


Catch a Tiger

by AphroditeB00w



Series: Shadow People [3]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Bad Blood, Criminal AU, Criminal stuff, Established Relationship, Ex Lovers, M/M, Mafia AU, Protective Boyfriend, Protective Viktor, otabek is a favor monger, there is sexy times, we get to see our boys again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-07
Updated: 2017-12-06
Packaged: 2018-11-10 11:20:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11126007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AphroditeB00w/pseuds/AphroditeB00w
Summary: While Otabek and Yuri as officially a thing, there are some who do not like the fact, and are out get revenge...orYuri gets kidnapped, Otabek loses his shit, and Viktor and Yuuri get called int to help sort the shit out.Probably best to read the companions in this fic, for it to make the most sense. But it can stand alone aswell.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> A last look at our boys. Blame Storylover.
> 
> This chapter basically starts with smut, you have been warned.

“It’s a straight.” Yuri said, his words sounding flinty since he was trying to hold his cards in his hands and his cigarette with his lips at the same time.

“It’s not, Yuri.” Sezim said laughing. “You’re really bad at poker.”

“Dammit!” Yuri said, closing his hands and pushing the cards at Sezim again. “Deal again. I’m going to figure this out.”

Sezim leaned back, stretching. “Why do you even bother. Even if you learned the rules, your face gives everything away. _Does Yuri have a good hand? Of course, look, he is smiling just like Father Christmas just arrived_.”

Yuri pointed at Sezim with his cigarette. “You said you would teach me if I taught you to juggle.”

“I wouldn’t have made the deal if I’d known you would be so shit at it.” Sezim said, sighing but compiling the cards once again into a deck. “No wonder we had to rescue from prison.” He gestured to his face and put on a wide eyed lamb look. “ _Oh no, what’s happening next? These men want to rape me? Come at me bro_!”

Yuri flicked his still lit stick at him, making him jump away and bat at where it landed on his bare chest. “Shut the fuck up and deal.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

God, it was hot. Fucking 34 degrees and it was raining, which mean that no matter what Yuri did, it always felt like he was wearing a hot, humid blanket. He’d shed his clothes down to his briefs and ignored Sezim's snicker at seeing the purple tiger print. Sezim hadn’t quite been brave enough to shed his shorts, but Yuri didn’t care. They both had the thin, smelly sheen of sweat on their skins that no amount of Luke warm shower water could wash off, and Yuri baby hairs clung to his neck like thin tattoos, the blonde hair made dusty and dark. He sighed, and got up, going to fetch another two bottles of ice water from the fridge in their hotel room. He passed one to Sezim, and cracked open the other, drinking some then pouring a generous helping on his head, for the brief respite it offered.

“You’re dripping on the carpet.”

“It’ll dry in two fucking minutes, Sezim, _god_.”

“Not in this humidity.” Sezim said, shuffling and shaking his head. “It’ll stay and moulder.”

“Who cares?” Yuri sighed out, letting his head hang back and spreading his arms like a bird, just to feel relief from his skin sticking to itself. “Next time, we need to get a room with fucking AC.”

“Well, I’ll leave that up to you, since you would have more leverage.” Sezim replied mildly and Yuri inclined his head in acknowledgment.

It was true, while he and Sezim were holed up in this two star establishment, Otabek was staying in the Temple of the Emerald Buddha, where pre-meetings would be held, and thus Yuri and Sezim not yet required. Even them being there was more a ‘just-in-case’ kind of thing than a necessity. But Yuri knew that it was best that they stayed in this seedy excuse for a hotel, keeping a low profile. After just over a year of being together, Otabek was well known for travelling with his two, rather intimidating body guards, and people tended to shift nervously when they knew Yuri was around.

He rested his arms behind his head, unwilling to drop them back to his sides. “I hate Thailand. Next time, I’m going to Cape Town.”

Sezim perked up as he dealt. “Is it nice there? I’ve never been.”

“It’s beautiful.” Yuri told him. “Though not right now. Hmm, maybe Majorca…”

Yuri had just snatched up his cards when the door lock snicked and Otabek stepped in, holding his key and dressed in the kind of clothes one would wear to play tennis. At a tennis club. Where pastels and whites were considered the last word in fashion. Yuri had long since accepted the fact that Otabek preferred more a more refined (boring) expensive kind of fashion sense, and since he looked good in it, it didn’t bother him in the least even though it set them at odds with each other aesthetically. But today, the man was just wearing too many clothes to be acceptable in this heat. Just looking at him made Yuri feel warmer, if that was possible.

“Hey Boss.” Yuri hailed with a brief salute and a quick once over of his lover. “Meeting go well?”

“Hey Boss.” Sezim said similarly, but with a touch more respect. His friendship with Yuri didn’t exempt him from that.

Otabek took in the scene, his face still inscrutable as we came slowly closer, hands in the pockets of his sand-coloured capris. “Are you trying to learn to play poker?” he asked flatly.

“'Im getting there.” Yuri said, squinting at his cards. “Wanna deal in?”

“No.” something in Otabek’s tone made Yuri look at up him, and he was met with a burning stare.

“What’s up?” Yuri asked, frowning at the man, whose eyes were sharp in his impassive face.

“Sezim.” Otabek said quietly, but it was as tight as the curled tip of a whip. Immediately Sezim dropped his cards on the table, swiped his shirt from the back of his chair and stood.

“I suddenly have to be anywhere else.” He said, making a beeline for the door and out of it in less time than it took for Yuri to put his own cards down.

“What the fuck, Beka?” Yuri asked, alert and annoyed now. He pushed at his hair, too long for this country and regretted that he hadn’t thought to pack an elastic or tie. His green eyes were bright and flinty when looking up at Otabek Altin, his lover and technically, employer. Except that Yuri never had to ask for money and Otabek never had to worry about paying him.

Otabek's eyes roamed slowly over his shoulders, chest, and thighs. “You’re naked.”

Yuri glanced down at his sheened body then back. “No, I’m not. Anyway, who cares? It’s too hot for clothes.”

Otabek made a slow step around Yuri, letting his hands come out of his pockets and slide over the heated skin of his collar bones from behind. Miraculously, his hands were cool, and Yuri accepted them with a soft noise.

“I don’t want you naked in front of other men. Or women. Anyone but me, in fact.”

Yuri eyes, which had been drifting shut, snapped open. “What?” he stood swiftly. “What are talking about? Sezim?”

Otabek hands had fallen away when Yuri had stood, but now found their way back to Yuri’s collar bones, tracing over the hairline, asymmetrical scars on his chest with dry fingers.

“Beka,” Yuri said, laughing. “Sezim straighter than uncooked spaghetti. He’s not checking me out. And in any case, I don’t care, why should you?”

Otabek fingers had diverged paths, one hand snaking behind Yuri head, touching the slick flesh and the other drifting lightly along his ribs. Gentle, and light. Even though Otabek used no force, Yuri leaned into the touch anyway, internally delighting in the way Otabek’s eyes swallowed his body whole.

“I care. I don’t want others thinking that you’re theirs to look at.” Otabek said quietly, dipping his fingers into the curve of Yuri’s spine. “You’re _mine_ to look at.”

“I’m nobody’s.” Yuri said huskily, lifting the edge of Otabek’s button-down tee. “This body is mine and I’ll do what I want with it.”

“And what do you want to do with it?” Otabek said, letting Yuri walk him backwards towards the bedroom.

“I want a fucking ice cold shower.” Yuri said, nipping at Otabek’s jaw. “And I want to get you out of these stupidly perfect clothes. I want to make you _untidy_ , Beka.”

“Heaven forbid.” Beka’s said, his legs hitting the edge of the bed and bending willing backwards onto it.

“Heaven and hell, Beka.” Yuri grinned, straddling the man and unbuttoning the shirt. “People like us don’t have to choose.”

 

-8-

“Next time, “Yuri drawled lazily, an unlit cigarette hanging from his mouth, “I don’t care, and I’m getting a room with AC.”

Otabek Altin glanced over at him, naked atop the cheap cotton sheet covering the bed, and said nothing. He did however, reach out a hand to trace the curved of Yuri’s shoulder, the dip in his spine and the mound of his ass, bare and brazen, like the rest of Yuri Plisetsky. His body reminded Otabek of an unadulterated skyline, an example for perfect nature. In spite of being on the receiving end of so many knives, bullets and weaponry of different kinds, his skin healed beautifully, leaving only pale lines of scar tissue. His normally languorous hair, hung in damp swathes over shoulders and back, darker than its usual gold.

Yuri, used to Otabek’s thoughtful silences, lit up and went on with his one sided conversation.

“I want to get a tattoo.” He said.

Otabek perked up then. “Why?”

A shrug. “I saw a pretty design. Why not?”

Otabek knew better, Yuri did nothing without thinking about it with single-minded determination first. His casual attitude was a farce. “Why, Yura?”

Yuri blew smoke away, then glanced sidelong at him. His own hand came up to touch at the sunrise over Otabek’s collar bone, then down to the stylised palm facing upwards on his bicep.

“A lot has happened since we met.” Yuri said. “I feel like I want to commemorate it. Isn’t that what tattoos are for?”

For Otabek, his tattoos had been ways to hide evidence. But in a way it was true, each one commemorated a loss, a gain, a triumph of some kind. He rolled closer, not quite touching Yuri but tracing circles in the small of his back, dimpled with vertebra.

“Where?” he asked quietly. “And what?”

“It’s a surprise.” Yuri replied with a glint to his eye.

Otabek huffed a soft laugh. “Of course. Because you’re so good at keeping secrets.”

“Your faith in me is so fucking astounding, asshole.” Yuri replied.

Otabek accepted this equably, drew himself closer to catch the kiss waiting for him on Yuri’s lips, and was obliged when Yuri met him halfway, his ire barely more than lip service.

“My faith in you is absolute.” Otabek said anyway before rolling away to find his clothes. “I’m meeting the client tonight, and I need your presence.”

“Roger that, boss.”

Otabek shot him a cautionary glance, hating the nickname, and seeing Yuri blowing insolent smoke his way. “You can’t go out like that.”

Otabek waited for Yuri as he stretched his lithe body and came over, kneeling on the bed and touching the milky mess on Otabek’s stomach.

“You came a lot.” Yuri said with musing expression, letting his fingers wipe through the still congealing cum on his chest. Otabek writhed a little, disgusted.

“You tease.” Otabek replied. “Is there a shower here?”

“There is, but we will have to share.” Yuri answered, moving to stand and walking, still naked through the room door and out. “Sezim is still gone, cool your paranoia.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Yes you were.” Yuri replied, turning around and walking backwards so Otabek could see him.

Otabek sighed internally, but followed him, as he always did. When he came to the bathroom, Yuri was already inside.

“The water only one has one temperature; which is luke warm.” Yuri informed him as his feet stepped onto the tiles. “Which, I don’t have to tell you, sucks.”

“It’s alright.” Otabek replied, moving to stand behind him, letting his hands slide down the slickness of his skin. Yuri, in spite of the heat and complaints, smelled good to him. Like sex and sweat and salt.

“Seriously, next time, I want a decent room.” Yuri muttered.

“Hmm.” Otabek hummed, moving the thick curtain of hair aside so he could kiss at the neck beneath it. He’d been in a rush before, letting Yuri take the lead because he’d been burning for it, after seeing Yuri’s body on display. Even though Sezim was no threat, he couldn’t help but feel possessive over a sight that was rightfully his and his alone. He’d climaxed hard and quick, with Yuri spurring him on just as hungrily.

But now, he wasn’t in a hurry.

“I thought we had a meet.” Yuri said, tilting his head so accept Otabek’s kisses.

“In a few hours.”

“Ah. That’s…uh…” Yuri’s quick retort was unravelled before it came out, when Otabek’s hand slithered down his back, over his ass and _gripped_.

“I’m sensitive.” Yuri gasped. But he was also, Otabek noticed, hard again.

“I’m not.” Otabek replied, biting the meat of his shoulder. “But I’ll be gentle.”

“Don’t be.” Yuri said, turning his head just enough for Otabek to catch his sly smile, then bending at the hips, pushing his bare ass into Otabek naked crotch. He nearly hissed, but that was Yuri, as insatiable as he had been from day one.

“You must be bored.” He managed, even as he slid a thumb over the man’s hole, feeling it twitch responsively.

“You’re gonna say that while you’re _aaah!_ ” Yuri started but ended with an angry moan when Otabek pushed his finger inwards. “Bastard.”

Otabek leaning down over him to lick his skin, tasting the salt mingled with fresh water from the shower head. It rained on them both, cleansing though not refreshing, making them slid against each other tauntingly.

“You told me not to be gentle.” Otabek pointed out calmly, his thumb buried in Yuri’s heat.

“Unggg.” Yuri replied briefly. It was the only time Otabek had ever seen Yuri Plisetsky undone, vulnerable. The only time Yuri’s sharp words failed and vanished like switching off a light. He enjoyed both sides to the man equally.

“Will you get the tattoo here?” he said, nipping at the place just between his shoulder blades. “Or here? Perhaps, just over here, over this place.”

As he spoke he kissed and scratched teasingly at points on Yuri’s back, ribs, neck, while his thumb grazed teasingly at the edges of his entrance, pulling and easing.

“I told you it’s a surprise.” Yuri panted, pushing backwards to make Otabek hurry. He did not.

“If I ask nicely?” he smiled against the tight skin.

“no.” Yuri grated out stubbornly, the cried out when Otabek’s second thumb joined the first.

“You’re still loose from this morning.” He sighed. He had never said it more than once before, but he worshipped Yuri’s body. The small signs that responded only to him, the stretch of supple skin over bone and muscle, the way Yuri’s back arched like a cat to allow him access. He complained in word only, but everything else about Plisetsky called to him like a siren song. As always, he fell into it, gave himself over wholly even if he hadn’t already been vacuumed in from day one.

Yuri was holding himself still now, legs splayed and waiting while Otabek stretched him gently, ever mindful of causing his lover discomfort. He memorised the dark ropes of wet hair plastered to his back, like the strokes of a painters brush. The colour of the blush rising over his shoulders was the same as a sunrise on a perfectly clear morning, the shape of his shoulder blades pushing upwards as he gripped the shower pole like mountains under oceans.

“Ready?” he asked, his own hardness aching for contact and pressure.

“You tell me.” Yuri panted.

Making sure Yuri was slick as water could make him, he nudged between Yuri’s cheeks, garnering a strained sort of sigh from the man bent in front of him. Otabek preferred to see his lover’s face when they made love, but this shower wasn’t designed with that in mind. So he aligned himself carefully, before pushing in, letting the head crest before stopping. Yuri gasped against him, tightening.

“Ok?” Otabek said, hands sliding soothingly down the man’s thigh.

“yes.” Yuri panted, tilting his head awkwardly so he could look at Otabek with hazy eyes. “It’s fine, don’t stop, dammit.”

Still, Otabek leaned forward and kissed at the hollow between Yuri’s shoulder blades as he pushed in slowly, savouring the trembling tightness as he slid in, the welcoming heat inside until he bottomed out with a heavy sigh that matched Yuri’s.

It was slowly, a building rhythm that felt like the heat seeped from around his cock and pooled in his belly, rising upwards like the smoke from Yuri’s mouth, until he breathe it out and in, out and in. as he climbed closer to his climax, he reached around the stroke at Yuri’s length, finding him hard and leaking. He closed a firm fist around it, squeezing and pumping in the same rhythm. He knew Yuri’s body so well now, had taken so many extended lessons in its education, that he could time their climaxes together if he was careful. Judging from the way Yuri’s breathed came faster, with ragged edges, he was right.

He bit and sucked a hickey at the soft muscle, noting the red irritation his unshaven chin had caused. “This skin is so beautiful Yuri.”

“I’m still…” Yuri panted. “Getting a tattoo.”

Otabek smiled. Yuri was always Yuri.  He pushed in with a particularly deep thrust, and was rewarded when Yuri arched and pushed back against him, wanton.

“Beka…” he said, his voice somewhere between a whine and a cry.

“I know.” He replied, pumping Yuri’s cock faster, feeling him jolt, and trembling when Otabek hit his prostate at the same time. Before long, he felt the tightening around his own cock, feeling Yuri buck against him hard, and triggering his own climax, making him bite down harder than he intended on the hickey he’d been adding to the chain.

They stood together, Otabek arms having come around Yuri’s waist holding him in place as he spent through the crux of his orgasm, relishing the closeness and heat they created together. Everything with Yuri was brighter, more real, and more intense.

He kissed Yuri’s shoulder, now that Yuri was standing more upright again, flesh shivering with aftershock.

“lover.” He whispered into the skin.

“Hmm?” Yuri hummed in reply, sounding dozy.

“Nothing I just enjoy saying it.” He said, becoming aware once more of the fall of water over their bodies, and feeling the need for it more so now. But he didn’t let go yet. The proximity was too addictive. Yuri obliged by coming upright fully, and leaning back against him, tilting his head to rest over Otabek shoulder and turning his face for a kiss. It was a languorous one, a little lazy and sloppy, but full nonetheless. He idly toyed with the hair snaking down Yuri’s chest.

“I like it to.” Yuri said with a half-smile.

 

-8-

 

I look like a penguin.” Yuri complained, adjusting the too tight suit once more, pointlessly. It fit him perfectly but he was annoyed at not being allowed to wear his usual flamboyance and refused to let it go.

“Its black tie.” Otabek replied mildly, his opposite, seated beside him in the cab, cool and elegant and expensive.

“Yeah yeah.”

They had arrived, the car sliding smoothly to a stop just outside the hotel whose restaurant boasted the best Shrimp. Sezim had gone ahead, would be already mixed into the background of the place, and extra pair of eyes. Since everyone knew by now that Altin’s permanent bodyguard was the Ice Tiger, it was pointless for him to hide in the open.

Tonight’s clients was a politician, another clever and passively aggressive social climber looking to force his way into the upper echelons of government, one shady necessary deal at a time. People like these were Altin’s bread and butter, and clients like these needed criminals like Otabek like fish needed water. Because in the world of politics and conniving politicians, information was king. And being the provider, distributor and merchandiser of said information made Otabek Altin a very important man indeed.

They were seated at a set of low lung armchairs, too wide for one but too small for two, he and Otabek on one side and the client on the other, a round table between them already laden with finger foods, most of which Yuri didn’t like or recognise. The restaurant smelled of spices and smoke and food, and soft music filtered in-between lilting conversation and the muted clink of glasses. His eyes scanned for exits, not very well hidden security, and well-hidden bodyguards. He sotted Sezim head very briefly, and nodded internally to himself. Even though he personally found the weather, setting and food repugnant, he was still on the job.

It was doubly important to be alert because, well, it was Otabek and he was sort of important now. Besides, the idiot had ways of getting himself into stupid situations and bleeding later. How had this man even survived this long?

Ironically, their client was no more a local of Bangkok than they were. His dark hair fell to just past his ears in dark waves, his eyes were a dark brown, and he had the kind of face that you saw in stock photo graphs. “Insert perfect husband here” his welcoming smile said, “vote for me.” he was handsome in a basic, plastic sort of way, and Yuri took both him, and his escort in with a trained eye. She looked local, but her petite figure tucked into a sheer floor length dress could be hiding anything.

“Good evening.”

“Good evening, Mr. Proverbio.” Otabek replied politely. Stephano Proverbio, just this side of forty, holding his age well. Young and good looking enough to gain traction in his country’s political race, but not above using whatever leverage would get him to the top faster.

“I am glad you could join me tonight.” Proverbio smiled at them. “And I am glad to meet the Ice Tiger I’ve heard about.”

Yuri returned his smarmy smile with a flat look. He wasn’t there to mingle or make nice, and the ass hadn’t even introduced his date, so what the fuck?

“Your agent made it clear this was the only time you could meet.” Otabek said calmly, ignoring the segue. “Since your need to communicate seemed ….urgent, I made the effort.”

“If by urgent you mean I am willing to be you double your usual price, then yes.” Proverbio went on smoothly, his smile lingering, with an air of earnest integrity. Yuri looked away, not rolling his eyes, because Otabek had said that it made him look unprofessional.

“I have what you asked for. It was a considerable amount of information, but the alerts have been smothered and trails covered.”

“My fee should cover it?”

“It does. However, you have still not made the transfer, and if you do not do so within the next hour, I will either destroy or redistribute what I have collected.” Altin said flatly.

“Ah” Proverbio smiled again, showing very white, straight teeth. “Soldier of fortune are you?”

“Hardly.” Otabek replied. “There is a reason you sought out my services, after all. You are not the only one who will find value in this information, and your added requirement of keeping what I can out of the hands of others is not small thing, as you should know.”

“As well I do know.” Proverbio said, gesturing with a languid finger. His escort immediately sat forward, gracefully lifting an open wine bottle and refilling their glasses. Neither Yuri nor Otabek had touched theirs. “I wish you would try this wine, it is unexpectedly good.”

No, thank you.” Otabek replied. Yuri couldn’t quite smother a sigh these meetings were always tedious, and he half wished he could go and at least sit at the bar. Instead his found his cigarette box tucked into his inside pocket, and proceeded to light up. The escort darted him a glance that had the hint of disapproval in it before mothing out again to be a blank doll once more. Yuri ignored the look, but watched her still.

“May I borrow one off you?” Proverbio asked, directing his warm gaze at Yuri, all innocence and dimples.

“Why, do you plan on giving it back?” Yuri retorted automatically Otabek knew by now that his patience was thinner than normal, and besides, the business deal was all but done.

“Ah, my English perhaps needs adjusting.” Proverbio replied, affecting good natured embarrassment. Yuri cut through the preamble and tossed him the pack, with the lighter tucked inside, catching Otabek’s eye as he did.

Finish this deal, so we can get out of the sweaty country, the look said.

“As I was saying, unless you fulfil your side, the deal is forfeit.” Altin directed at the man now flicking the lighter, the snapping sound at odds with the ambient noise.

“It is done.” Proverbio shrugged, pulling in a large lungful and breathing it out casually. “Ah, I prefer not smoke usually, but every now and then, it is socially acceptable, yes?”

Yuri kept his expression neutral, but he was wondering why the guy was speaking to him at all. It was unusual for to be included in the conversation, and it wasn’t like they were there to chat about the weather.

“I don’t care what is socially acceptable.” Yuri said. Proverbio nodded, indicating his lapel.

“You have the luxury not to care, Yuri Plisetsky. Obviously, since you wear that brooch so brazenly.”

The cat brooch sparkled on Yuri’s suit lapel, polished and vicious. He made sure he always wore it somewhere, to these things. If he wasn’t wearing it, he was carrying it, and if he wasn’t carrying it, it was in the side table in whatever hotel, room, house Otabek set them up in at the time.

He shrugged though, communicating none verbally that he didn’t give a fuck what Proverbio thought.

“Isn’t that part of the Rossi collection? The piece that went missing at charity function you were present at Mr Altin?”

“Is it?” Otabek replied, sounding bored as he tapped through his phone, checking his account balances.

“Are we done here?” Yuri asked.

“I believe so.” Otabek said, standing and rebuttoning his jacket, with a definite air of finality. “I thank you Mr Proverbio.”

“I hope to be councilman Proverbio soon.” Proverbio replied with a wink.

“That of course, is up to you.” Otabek said as a farewell. Yuri let him pass before following.

“It was also good to meet you Mr Plisetsky.” The man called out, tossing the pack back, which Yuri caught without even looking at it.

Sezim was already outside when they left the restaurant, though he simply nodded and hailed another taxi. It benefitted them not to be too obviously associated as a safety measure. Yuri stepped forward, unbuttoning his coat while Otabek paid the valet to call a service.

“What was with that guy?” Yuri grumped before realising his cigarette was done and having to stub it out. He stashed it in his pocket, knowing that littering was a punishable offence and wouldn’t that be fucking embarrassing to be arrested for fucking littering.

“I’m not sure.” Otabek mused, Yuri glanced at him sidelong.

“Maybe he thought I was cute in my suit.” He teased, earning him a slightly annoyed look.

“If this is you trying to barter you way to never wearing a suit again…”

“It is.”

Otabek didn’t reply, but there was a slight tilt to his mouth that indicated he was amused. Yuri stretched his arms upwards, making his body long and taught before relaxing again.

“Finally we can get out of this country.” He said on an exhale. “Where next?”

“Nothing pressing.” Otabek replied, coming up close to his shoulder, closer than was necessary for two men in the street. “Any requests?”

“Actually yes. Portugal.”

Otabek frown appeared. “Why?”

Yuri grinned up at him, hooking a finger into the stiff collar neatly buttoned right up to the top and pulling him down.

“It’s a surprise.”

As the kissed, the orangey streetlight glittered in the hundreds of tiny facets on jewels, and sparked off miniature spiked teeth.

 

 

 

 

 

 


	2. 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I hope no one is expecting me to incorporate Welcome to the Madness. In fact, I'm trying really hard not to cos dammit I wanna write Yuri is heavy emo make up.  
> But yeah, I reckon Otabek is emo enough for all of them.

It was a week later in Braga, Portugal, when Otabek took a large envelope from Aizada, holding it like it was a murder weapon.

“It just came to the door. No note,” Aizada told him hesitantly.

The warm air of Braga played with the collar of his wrinkled shirt, though it felt cold as he stared at the single elegant script, handwritten in pen on the surface of the hard paper.

_Отабек Алтын._

Day One: They had arrived and done nothing but enjoy the hotels amenities, went out  to fetch Aizada from the airport at sunset and experimented with unusual food, which Yuri had sneered at and Aizada had chided him for being unadventurous.

Day Two: Yuri had insisted on finding his chosen Tattoo Artist by himself, citing that Aizada couldn’t keep a secret and if she saw she would absolutely reveal his design to her brother.

Day Three: Yuri was missing. His phone was disconnected and no trace of him could be found. But by sunset, Otabek had managed to glean small information leading him to a tattoo parlour in Alamy where the shop staff had admitted that yes, a blonde man had come in, but had been taken out again very quickly by some other men, and no they had no idea what happened after that.

Day Four: Both Aizada and Otabek went into flat spin, Aizada pacing the hotel room back and forth, going out and coming back in, retracing the path from the hotel to the parlour over and over. Otabek spent a lot of time on the phone to Sezim (who went with Aizada every time) and to others, while he scratched ever growing red welts onto his forearms that burned.

Day Five: The welts had started to bleed, and Aizada stepped in with ointment and bandages, though Otabek barely felt the pain. They had found nothing. Nothing. Yuri was gone.

The envelope arrived, with Otabek half expecting it, but horrified beforehand as to its contents.  Slowly he peeled open the flap and was about to tip it upside down when Sezim stepped in, taking it from him.

“It could be anything.” The man said gruffly, and Otabek blinked. He hadn’t even considered it could be dangerous. His eyes were red-rimmed with sleeplessness, his senses painfully acute.

Sezim peered inside, his eyes widening and mouth dropping open, slack.

“What is it?” Otabek snapped.

Wordlessly, Sezim tipped the envelope as Otabek had planned on doing, not the table between them. Aizada’s horrified sob was cut off when her hands covered her mouth.

Silky strands of golden, blood stained hair slithered onto the table, uneven and ragged lengths, bouncing lightly as it piled itself in wide loops. It took a moment for Otabek’s trauma addled mind to process the message, the actual reality of what he was seeing. Immediately his arms began to itch underneath their armour of thick bandaging.

His mind measured and told him that it wasn’t enough to be all of Yuri’s head of hair. About hair, shorn off indelicately. Abstractedly, he knew that Yuri would be so very pissed about that. His one true vanity was his hair, and since Viktor had made some disparaging comment about its condition, he’d been keeping it in good repair, buying only the most expensive, well-reputed products. He liked to change the recipe; sometimes he smelled like cinnamon, sometime bergamot, sometimes the tang of citrus.

Today, the scent of vanilla and blood made him want to throw up, violently.

“Is that…?” Aiza tried in a small voice, as if she didn’t already know the answer.

“Yes,” he said anyway, his voice coming out lifeless and flat.

The horrified silence settled, though Otabek didn’t notice it, his mind whirred as fast as ever.

“I need to make a call,” he said eventually, more to himself than anyone else, and got up to find his phone.

-8-

“Lift,” Katsuki Yuuri commanded quietly.

Viktor obediently raised himself higher, arching his back so his ass was bared, spread open and waiting. Yuuri let a thin line of a smile appear on his face, though there was no one to see it. He pressed a finger to the base of the pinpoint anal vibrator settled comfortably inside Viktor’s hole, and upped the setting. The following groan of pleasure from Viktor mouth, muffled by sheets, was exactly what he aimed for.

“Still good?” he asked anyway, pressing down again, this time simply because he enjoyed the way Viktor pressed back.

“Always, lover,” Viktor replied clearly, twisting his head around so he could look Yuuri in the eye, blue eyes diffused and warm. In spite of himself, Yuuri loved that look that was reserved for him alone, though his face never revealed it.

“So glad you’re enjoying your new toy,” He said instead, running a finger down the raphe of Viktor spread cheeks, touching feather light along his ball sack which had just been made hairless by hair removal cream. Viktor swore it made things more interesting. Judging by the way the man shivered at the touch, Yuuri was inclined to believe him.

“Since you’re the one who ordered it I think it’s yours,” Viktor pointed out, bringing himself up again and turning around.

“Sit,” Yuuri instructed and Viktor obeyed, planting himself more firmly on the toy. Yuuri could hear the sound of the vibration change as Viktor convulsed around it. His eyes slid closed but he didn’t complain. Yuuri was always watchful for his limits, but so far Viktor didn’t seem to have any.

Only Viktor understood that control was about more than the collar. The most effective form of control was invisible, a subject of faith and confidence. Though, with Viktor he never felt like that control was taken, only given.

He touched the cock ring closing around the base of his erection, feeling himself throb against it. Viktor had already come twice, he deserved it now. His finger hooked briefly on the connector before flipping it loose, letting it slide off his heated skin.

“Eat,” he commanded and Viktor gave him a sly smile before sliding off the bed to his knees and grabbing Yuuri’s thighs, pulling him close with no force at all. Yuuri never felt coerced, and though Viktor enjoyed the control game, he never once fired it onto Yuuri, never made it seem in the least like it was anything more than a game. Their relationship was, as always, consensual, mental and utterly addictive.

Viktor needed no more instruction, this was familiar territory. He never rushed things, and tonight, or rather morning since the sun was already peaking over the lip of the horizon, there was no one to stop them, no chore to interrupt them.

That clan had long since accepted that Viktor and Yuuri shared a bed. It was tacit acceptance, and people made of it what they would. It was perhaps a testament to the loyalty Katsuki Yuuri inspired that none had left, betrayed or confronted as would have happened in some organisations he knew of. Though it was known, it wasn’t paraded around. This wasn’t a storybook romance, where hands were held, kissed, where smiles were exchanged and declarations of love on a daily basis.

Viktor’s love was in the tattoo on his arm, the ink settled and faded to become one with his skin, the green scales of the snake still clear, its fangs still pointed. Viktor’s love was in his total and utter loyalty, the abandonment of his reservations without the abandonment of self. Viktor’s love was in the elegant acceptance of Yuuri, however he could have him.

Yuuri’s love was in acceptance of this, of all of this.

He did so in a way that no other had ever garnered from him, or deserved. Or, he was sure, ever would again.

Viktor had a way of closing his mouth around only the top half of his cock, and pressing down with his lips, drawing back slowly as if to draw him out, coaxing him towards climax at the same time as determined to make it last. The heat in his mouth was at odds with the brush of cool air when he slipped off, leaving his dick wet and glistening.

He looked down at Viktor’s knowing grin and frowned. He pushed a hand into the silver locks and gripped just on the edge of painful, watching Viktor’s eyes close against the pull where others would have flinched. Between them, pain wasn’t the same as hurt. Between them was…understanding.

“Viktor,” he growled low, and it was understood instantly. Viktor’s mouth opened, cheeks hollowed and swallowed him whole. It took two lengths of Yuuri pushing Viktor’s head down and lifting again, for Yuuri to come, his entire body tensing and going still as Viktor sucked him through it. In the year they’d been fucking, Yuuri had gone from novice to expert, but it was a very rare moment that he would make any sound during sex. Viktor was enough for both of them. Even now, as he came a third time, his voice hummed around Yuuri flaccid cock.

The man enjoyed sex. It was a good thing, for them both.

Later, while Viktor took the vibrator to the bathroom to clean it, Yuuri donned his gown and walked over to the kitchen. Viktor enjoyed sweet coffee after a particularly long and experimental session, though his energy never seemed to flag. He poured hot water over coffee grounds and tea bag alike, still feeling the hot tingle in his muscles left over from sex. It was long-past 3AM, which was the best time for them, it seemed. Sleep first, then to pull and writhe against each other and destroy the bed, then spend the remaining hours of dark before dawn silent, in each other’s company, and breathing.

But now, the small, specific phone in the top drawer at his bedside rang, its muted screaming calling to him from its recesses. He turned towards it, considering some internal thing before making his slow way over.

There were very few people alive who had the number for this phone. When it rang, it was generally something Katsuki Yuuri paid attention to.

Viktor was already in the doorway, face serious and concerned as Yuuri opened the drawer and drew out the phone. Its face lit up with one name and Yuuri raised an eyebrow.

A few minutes later, he hung up and put the phone back again. He went back to the steeping tea, already too bitter for his taste, and tipped it out to make another.

“Otabek Altin is flying here,” he informed Viktor, who he knew was standing near, still watching him closely, waiting. “Your idiot kitten has been stolen.”

-8-

Seeing his primary source of coveted information in the midst of being unravelled made Yuuri uncomfortable. He took in the appearance of Otabek Altin, sitting in the seat on the other side of his desk; his attempts at appearing as he usually did stopped at the clean cut of his suit, the shine of his shoes. Eyes seemed raw from lack of sleep, the top button of his shirt and cuffs left undone, and hair awry.  He had known Altin for nearly a decade, and he had always been the epitome of severe class, his lines so sharp you could cut paper with them. Part of what made him so successful in his work was the knowledge that Otabek Altin was never subject to change, nor ruffled by weather of any kind.

But here he saw the man, and not the informant, and Altin’s naked fallibility was unnerving in a way Katsuki Yuuri couldn’t truly explain. He shared a heavy glance with Viktor, who showed his shock more openly. But then, he had been edgy since discovering that Yuri Plisetsky had been kidnapped, like the foolish child he was. Viktor knew more of their relationship than he did, as Yuuri wasn’t interested in such things, but in truth, he hadn’t realised the impact such a thing would have on Altin. The man looked ready to collapse, or cry, or set the world on fire.

“You have an idea of where he is?“ he asked, once Altin had explained himself with a voice just this side of hoarse.

“No,” the dishevelled man grated out, then cleared his throat. “But I have an accurate idea of who.”

“Who then?” Viktor asked immediately, frowning, leaning forward.

Altin slouched a little in his chair, the slope of his shoulders something so uncharacteristically human it made Yuuri sit a little straighter, stiffer. “A…for the purposes of this conversation, I will be honest. She is a former colleague and lover of mine. She was unhappy when I ended things with her. But we have maintained a professional relationship in spite of that.”

Another look passed between Yuuri and Viktor, which Altin missed because he was staring hard at the floor, hands clutched between his legs too hard. “What makes you think it’s her?” Yuuri asked.

“Because she, like me,  deals with information. Though she prefers to keep her activities within the realm of politics, we always used each other’s services before. However, she has disappeared. I cannot find her. Which can only mean she deliberately does not want to be found.”

Yuuri understood this, though he found it strange. “How can a person simply vanish?”

“It’s not difficult, for people like us,” Altin replied, referring to himself and other information mongers. “The fact that she has however, is too much of a coincidence.”

“You say she was unhappy about your break up?” Viktor asked.

Altin hand came up, the heel pressing into his left eye and rubbing a frown into the skin. “It wasn’t a break up from my side. But it was from hers. She wanted more, and I did not.”

“Was this when you met Yuri?”

This time a pause, and Altin’s hand fell with a sigh. The cuff of his sleeve feel open negligently, revealing the edge of a thick bandage. Yuuri’s sharp eyes saw it, but he didn’t grasp its meaning. Had someone injured him?

“Yes, it was at that time. And since our relationship is hardly secret, she would have assumed I ended our affair because of him.”

The three men fell silent then, digesting information, breathing in the harsh air, on the cusp of movement and action.

“So I have come to offer you a bargain,” Altin eventually said, bringing his reddened eyes to meet Yuuri’s squarely, without shame. “I offer you a life debt, in exchange for your help in finding him.”

Yuuri didn’t even bother looking at Viktor when the sound of disgust puffed from his mouth. Still, he went on.

“This will be the second life debt you owe me on his behalf,” he pointed out.

Altin said nothing, his expression as blankly intense as ever, while he waited for an answer. Yuuri flicked a negligent finger in answer.

“Your request is ridiculous. As I’m sure it is evident, Viktor would aid you whether I permitted it or not.” He darted a knowing glance to Viktor who shrugged. “As it stands, you have been a long time business partner and acquaintance of mine, and you were instrumental in rescuing Viktor from his last act of pointless self-sacrifice. Of course I will help you.” He turned to look more fully at Viktor now. “These Russians have a habit of getting into stupid situations.”

“Oh goodness, why do you keep us around at all?” Viktor opined falsely, standing.

“A mystery,” Yuuri shot back, then looked back at Altin. “Do you require Christophe’s network?”

“I think what Mr Altin needs first, is sleep.” Viktor interjected.

“I cannot sleep at present,” Altin said bluntly. It was odd, how this man wore his heart so openly and yet with such a blank expression.

“Then I will ask you to take a tablet to aid you,” Yuuri added, agreeing with his right-hand man. “You are useless to everyone in your current state. Plisetsky as well. Christophe can work on the information you already have, while you snatch a few hours of sleep. Take the opportunity now, and let us help.”

Altin stiffened only a moment before nodding.

“Her name is Francesca Pascale. The last place I found her, she was in Sweden.”

 -8-

The bag had long since been removed from his head, but Yuri kept his eyes shut. Opening them now would only result in him being blinded by the light that made his eyelids red from the inside. Whenever he was, it was bright. His arms were tied too tight, bent at an awkward angle around the back of the chair he’d been thrown into. From the feel of things, it was a cable tie that kept his wrists grinding against each other. It was sloppy; everything was too tight, pain and discomfort caused accidentally rather than with intent.

 _Great_ , he thought, _I’ve been kidnapped by amateurs_.

He let his ears take in the sounds around and nearby; the shuffle of feet across a floor; shoes, smooth floor, tile maybe. A _tic tic_ of pointed heels walking closer, a woman’s voice speaking…Italian? It was rapid, the depth of vowels deep in the throat, consonants cut off and harsh. Though that could be the speaker’s dialect, or habit, or state of mind. There was a brief, gruff reply (male) and the retreat of shoed feet.

He let his eyes open to thin slits, looking downwards. The light wasn’t natural, false and too bright off terra cotta tiles, dark grey grouting. The floor was clean, and the dark scuffed Sketchers he wore seemed at odds with the clean surface. Still bloodless. Well that was nice at least.

“Wake up,” an aggravated female snapped at him, obviously he still looked knocked out. He’d actually woken up at least forty minutes before, but playing dumb was safest until you could assess your situation.

The slap however, came from nowhere, and his head snapped to the left as an open palm landed hard on his right.

“Goddamit!” he swore loudly. The damn woman was wearing fucking jewellery, the sting it left behind fading into a throb.

“That was less satisfying than I thought it would be,” the voice muttered. His rule on slowly blinking now moot, he turned a glare in the direction of the voice.

The woman standing in front of him was tall, made unnecessarily taller by heels, wearing a sleek pantsuit made in some pale chiffon colour. Heavy gold bangles jangled on her wrist as she massaged the hand she’d used to hit him, suspected gold rings present and plenty. An elegant line formed between her perfectly drawn eyebrows, and hair the colour of wet chocolate fell down past her shoulder and dust the tops of her thighs. She was lovely, and also, familiar, though he count place it right then while his shoulders ached and his face stung.

“That was fucking rude,” he commented acerbically.

She intensified her glare at him, shaking her hand once more before dropping it. “You would know, gutter trash.”

“I’m sorry my face got in the way of your perfectly manicured hand,” Yuri retorted. “Next time, don’t hit me, maybe.”

Her face was like something carved by Italian Renaissance sculptors, smooth and perfect and, in Yuri’s calculate opinion, too much make up. The prettiness of it was marred by an ugly frown, the pursing of her lips as she glared at him like he was something scraped off the bottom of her too high heels.

“You don’t have a lot of leverage here, Yuri Plisetsky. And if I want to slap you, maim you or spit on you, I will.”

“Look, I have a lot of respect for kinks, no judging or anything, but _what the fuck did I ever do to you_?”

Her glossy hair swung and parted over her shoulder, as she strode forward to him again, until he could see the flecks of amber in her pale brown eyes. She grabbed his chin, her manicured nails digging into his skin to he couldn’t pull away unless he wanted some more scratches. He saw there, the flicker of something, the flavouring of anger that made it all the worse.

“You took him from me, Ice Tiger,” she hissed at him, pupils like pin points of jealousy in her face. “No, you _stole_ him.”

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go, next update in a week? Probably?  
> Say hi at Tumblr is you wanna :P


	3. 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sorry! Please forgive!
> 
> I was actually toying with the idea of deleting this altogether because iI'm struggling to find the motivation...but I was convinced otherwise.
> 
> Again, a huge thank you to my betas, without whom I would sound like English was my third language, instead of my first.

Yuri concentrated.

Focused.

And spat with perfect accuracy, landing a wadded up ball of saliva, blood and probably a tooth right on the toe of the leather Prada’s in his line of sight. He was rewarded when the accompanying disgusted shriek rang out in the dark room, bouncing off dusty wine bottles and glass walls.

“Cazo!” came the shrill curse, accompanied by some more rapid Italian that went right over Yuri’s head. One ear was still ringing anyway, even if he could have understood, he wouldn’t have heard much.

“Hey, Bitch,” he coughed, rolling his jaw a little and looking up. “What exactly was your plan here? Have your meathead hit me until I lose all my teeth? Is that really your only end goal here?”

She glared at him, her lovely face twisted in hatred, her entire body angled away from the tip of her shoe, as if it could contaminate her. He smirked, knowing that his teeth looked especially charming, with pink and red stains all over them.

“I don’t think you really thought this through. Crime of passion, huh? Bitch?” He spat again. The aim was off and it wasn’t nearly as big as the first attempt, but she leapt back as if it was a wave. His vision went white and pain followed it a split second later, but he’d been expecting it.  
When he could, Yuri rolled his eyes obviously, letting them come to rest on the man who’d decked him hard enough to set the chair he was strapped to teetering precariously on two feet before deciding to land again. Not the brightest crayon in the box, Yuri could tell even with the language barrier. He was more muscle than anything else, and seemed confused why this crazy angry woman kept telling him to hit the small blonde man in the chair, over and over. He still did it though, even if it took him a few moment to warm up a punch. Yuri’s only complaint is that it was like being hit with a ball of rocks.

He watched as the guy turned back to Bitch face, and rattled something off, in much slower, more thoughtful Italian. They went back and forth for a while before she waved him away with an expression of frustration and went to sit on the stool at the other end of the room, and started taking off her shoes.

“I’ll never be able to wear these again, you little slut,” she said without looking at him.

“Poor Bitch,” he said deliberately, because as soon as it became obvious that she abhorred that particular word, he latched onto it. Besides, the absolute bitch had cut his hair. Even now, the soft brush of new edges tickled his skin and made him shiver with anger. Apparently this woman’s main agenda was to try to make him as ugly as possible. On his left side, where a nice pile of bruises not graced his jawline, the hair hung uneven, just touching his chin, and on the other, it lay in blood streaked tangles down past his shoulders. When she had grabbed at a chunk of it and yanked, he hadn’t even realised what she was doing until the sudden release and coolness over her neck made it obvious.

She has cut his fucking hair.

She turned her permanently annoyed scowl on him now and said, “I told you not to call me that.”

“And I told you that no matter how ugly you make me, I’ll still be prettier than you, Bitch.”

“That’s not why you’re here gutter trash,” she sneered, putting her shoes delicately to one side, touching them as little as possible.

“Is that so? It would be nice to know why exactly I am here, since you are so obviously not into the kidnapping business,” he replied jauntily, after snorting hugely to prevent the blood from dripping out his nose. “Criminals of that type don’t usually store people in their fucking wine cellar.” He ended with a derogatory laugh.

“You talk too much,” she chastised him, folding her arms, her face once again flat and calm. But her hands curled hard into her elbows, stretching the fabric of her silk shirt.

He eyed her. “Let me guess, you’re wondering how Otabek can tolerate someone like me? Hmm? Well don’t worry honey, the feeling is mutual.”

The hands became claws digging into the bruises on his jaw. “He adored me. When we were together we were perfection.”

“Perfection?” he barked a laugh. “Do you even hear yourself? I’m sorry Bitch, but he never even mentioned you.”

“You…did something to him. Before you crashed into his life, getting him hurt, it was me who was always on his arm. People saw us together.”

Yuri saw the wild glint in her eye, the tensing up of her body, but didn’t care. “Saw you together? Wait, is that why you seem familiar…? Were you at that party job we did?”

“Stop saying ‘we’!” she spat. “You are not a ‘we’, you are a mistake!” She leaned down to him and shifted, her stockinged feet making no sound on the cold tile, hair swinging like a glossy flag. “He just needs a little distance from the way you leech onto him. When he sees what you really are…”  
“Is that why you cut my hair?” He watched her closely but she was clear as a bell in the way her own hand moved to touch her locks. He made a quick cognitive leap, based on her obviously loose grip on rationality. “Hang on, ha, did you grow your hair for him?”

His answer was in the way her lips forming a tight line, and the narrowing of her eyes, so he burst out in broken laughter. This woman was as shallow as a puddle and assumed everyone else was too. And obviously, knew Beka about as much as she understood manhandling criminals.

“Bitch, you are unhinged,” he finished off, shaking his head and chuckling. “This is stupid. Just let me go. He’s coming for me anyway.”

She blinked as if surprised. “He won’t.”

“You know he is,” he retorted. “I can see you know it. He’s going to be pretty pissed off about it too.”

She appeared to gather up some of her lost dignity and straightened. She retreated to the seat opposite him, sitting down and putting distance between them. She flicked her hair just so, and it fell back over her shoulder, each strand in perfect place.

“You are right, you do recognise me. Amazing your tiny criminal mind can recall that far,” she said, going on as if nothing had happened. “I was there that night, when you stole this.” From her pocket she pulled out his cat brooch, holding it up for him to see. Immediately the humour left him, leaving only nastiness in its wake.

“Speaking of mistakes, you should really give that back,” he warned her. Hair was hair, he wasn’t happy about it, but it would grow. But the brooch was something else entirely.

“I was going to bid on it,” she mused, turning the jewelled cat over in her hands. “I would have looked after it better than you. It’s all scuffed.”

“Who gives a flying fuck?”

“You know, this is exactly why I do not understand Otabek’s fascination with you.” She shook her head, regretful. “He likes things neat, ordered. Perfect and beautiful. Like me. When we were together, it was poetry. Our bodies were divinely compatible, and we were the picture of beauty, wherever we went. Everyone said so. I gave him what he needed. And then this.” She clenched the brooch, glaring at it. “Then. You. Happened.”

“Now it’s you everyone sees him with. Hanging on him like a burr, like a stain. The Ice Tiger,” she mocked. “And Mr Altin. You swear,curse and smoke, for god’s sake. You are a mess of a human being, forcing him to rescue you from your own disgusting life, living on his coattails and acting as if the world is beneath your feet when you were found in the scummiest of holes.”

“You’ve been rehearsing this haven’t you?” Yuri said flatly.

She leaned forward, looking him in the eye. “You are a mistake. And since you’re obviously holding something over him to force him to keep you around, once your usefulness is over, I will kill you, and remove the problem.”

A clack sound from the left signalled that the meaty henchmen had returned. She smiled, magazine perfect and bright suddenly.

“And here they are, finally.”

When Yuri saw who they latest guests were, pieces slotted into place and he realised he was in more trouble than he thought.

“Bueno sera, Mr Plisetsky.” Proverbio drawled, his perfectly carved face smiling, the crow’s feet in corners of his eyes wrinkling. “I’m so glad we get to meet again.”

-8-

 

“It’s definitely Bologna.” Christophe said, nodding decisively.

Viktor sighed out in private relief. “You’re sure this time? Not Leicester?”

Christophe coloured at having his mistake reminded to him. “She’s very clever. She threw me off with those credit cards.”

“So how are you sure now?”

“One, a very bizarre distant connection to an estranged cousin who lived there at one point.” Christophe said certainly, tapping away at his screen. “And second, photographic evidence taken yesterday afternoon.”

Viktor looked at the screen now turned to him and saw an image of a dark haired woman walking ahead of two other figures, who seemed to be in a some sort of struggle. There was a small flash of blonde hair escaping the bag on the one man’s head. It was enough.

“I’ll go and spread the word.” He said briefly, patting Christophe once on the shoulder before leaving the dark office the tech-genius inhabited.  
It had taken a painful two days, chasing down a ridiculous amount of false trails and red herrings. The woman, Francesca Pascual, was good. It was only because Altin knew her at all that they had enough of an edge to finally catch up.

That, and Altin’s determination was only matched by his desperation, and the two emotions seemed to spur each other on until their originator was a terrifying mess of angry, messy, calculated hunter. Altin had easily set aside any minor lingering annoyance he had for the Katsuki technician, and worked alongside with him, refusing meals unless they were forced on him. His clean, tidy exterior seemed to slowly whittle away as the hours ticked on, until his shirts stopped being buttoned all the way, or his sleeves rolled down to cover the curious looking bandages that wrapped his forearms. Neither he nor Yuuri had mentioned them, and he hadn’t offered, and there was no one else with the terrible social grace to come right out and demand explanation.

Except for Yuri. Yuri probably knew all about it, Viktor thought with chagrin.

Whether it was a sign of how much Altin trusted them, or how far much he was unravelled with the kidnapping of his lover, but the Altin he knew before would never have appeared in front of others without a tie, let alone revealing an obvious symbol of weakness.

Both his lover and his friend turned to see him enter when he opened the door of Katsuki Yuuri’s office, serious and alert.

“Christophe found her in Bologna. It’s the right place this time,” he informed them both, striding closer. Altin’s expression flickered between relief and eagerness. Yuuri’s settled into something a little more serious.

“He is sure?” Yuuri asked.

“Yes. There was a photo too. Looks like her, and him,” Viktor said, eyes flicking briefly to Altin.

“When are we leaving?” Altin said bluntly, without force.

The way Altin spoke and the way he looked was at odds: while he still spoke with accuracy or speech, wasteless and to the point, the rest of him was not. His legs crossed sloppily, his hair was shiny with grease and his shirt sleeves loose. Viktor eyes once more travelled down to the bandages that showed through, and widened.

“Altin, you are bleeding,” he pointed out.

His eyes followed where Viktor was indicating, to the fabric wrapped too loosely around his arm, and blinked, expressionless. He stilled, like a statue contemplating itself.

Yuuri made a disgusted sound. “Unless you intend to stay here, you need to stop this Altin.”

Altin looked up, a single swift movement of his head. “Pardon?”

Viktor bit the inside of his cheek but knew that Yuuri was in the right.

“I have told you to rest, you refuse to do so. In the two days you’ve been here you haven’t slept more than few hours.”

“I have been finding Yuri,” Altin stated flatly.

“And now you are burnt out. So I am telling you frankly, you will not be going with Viktor to find him unless you show some resolve, and come back to yourself. You are useless to both me and him in your current state.”

Slowly, Altin turned his wrist downwards and pulled the sleeve over the evidence. “I… apologise. You are right.”

“Altin,” Yuri said, relenting only a little. “I am not unfamiliar with the…difficulty of worrying over one’s lover.” He said tightly, sending a significant glance at Viktor which only made him feel hot in a very pleasant way. “But I remind you of who we are, and that Yuri, more so than you, run in circles that are rife with potential harm. Perhaps before you committed to him you were apart from it, but no so now. You cannot be surprised that he should be taken.”

“What do you mean?” Altin blinked.

Yuuri gave him a look that expressed how very stupid he was being. “Altin, you have the knowledge of titans at your fingertips, and for the first time in history, you have made it obvious you are irrevocably connected to another person. A person who would have access to all said information, as he is with you all the time. It’s no secret your share more than your bed with him.”

“Yuri knows nothing,” Altin said, still blinking in surprise. “He doesn’t even care about my work.”

“It’s hardly surprising, “Viktor added. “Yuri never did care about things that were too complicated.”

“But what is surprising is that you didn’t see it coming,” Yuuri finished off sternly. “Especially for you, Altin. I am disappointed. But love makes fools of us all. Andthat is done. What I am saying to you now however is this: come back to yourself. While I do consider you something of a fond acquaintance, if you cannot show me your professionalism now, when it truly matters, I would reconsider our business in future.”

There was a brief pause, then Altin stood abruptly. “I understand.”

Viktor shared a quick, mildly admonishing look with Yuuri, to which he shrugged and said ‘I’m not a babysitter.’ before following Altin out the door. He caught up with him, as he was making his way down the stairwell, and came level.

“I have some experience with bandages,” he explained when Altin met his gaze.

Altin took a deep breath as if to talk, then let it puff out weakly. “I can do this.”

“I’m sure you don’t want to see our resident doctor,” Viktor interceded. “I’ll fetch some clean bandages from him and meet you in your room.” Viktor reached the bottom of the stairs before Altin could refuse him again and darted off.

It took him a few minutes, though the Doctor was used to handing out first aid without question to the residents of Katsuki Manor, and he knocked politely on the door on Altin’s room, which ironically, had been his before he’d moved into Yuuri’s bed. It opened slowly, with Altin revealing himself, looking even less like himself than before and Viktor both understood Yuuri’s severity and felt sympathy.

“I have them.” He held up two rolls and added pointedly. “And I also have experience with putting them on properly.”

Altin opened the door slowly, nodding and saying softly, “Thank you.”

Viktor followed him in, surprised to see the room not a reflection of its owner, in disarray. To the contrary, it was meticulously tidy, barely any evidence at all that the bed had even been slept in. If it had been. But Altin travel case was stored neatly in the corner of the room, close to the door of the en suite, the only indication really the man stayed there at all, besides the sweater folded tidily over a chair. Viktor went to sit in it, and gestured for the other man to sit on the bed close. In silence, Viktor watched Altin unravel the soiled bandage from his left arm and then his right, his mouth pressing into a tight slash on his face.

“Good thing I brought disinfectant,” he murmured eyeing the lurid red injuries covering the soft underside of Altin’s arm. The man himself, refused to look up, and Viktor brought the closest arm closer using thumb and fore finger. The injuries looked clean at least, but he applied the lotion anyway, making sure it was thick enough to settle into the worse of the scratches.

“Thank you.” Altin sighed, sounding regretful. “For not asking.”

“Every man has his secrets. Thank you for trusting me this much,” Viktor replied quietly. “Did someone do this to you?”

“No.”

Viktor left it at that, covering the area with gauze before wrapping it firmly with clean white strips of fabric. Altin held his arm up to accommodate him.

“You are clearly not accustomed to dealing with injury,” Viktor commented, meaning to lighten the tension.

“Yuri and Aiza usually help me when it gets like this,” Altin replied cryptically. “You are right. Katsuki is right. I am…not myself.”

“Clearly,” Viktor replied but with a grin to soften the word, but it was lost as Altin was still staring at the wall opposite. He sighed instead and took the other arm in hand. “And Yuuri is also right.”  
Altin didn’t change his expression, but Viktor caught the tiny flinch. “There is no point in being embarrassed because of it. He told the truth, and what you need to hear. You can hardly go and be the knight in shining armour like this, can you?”

This finally managed to crack into Altin’s stoic façade, and a small twitch at the corner of his mouth and the softening of his eyes told Viktor he’d struck gold.

“Yuri wouldn’t like to be referred to as a damsel in distress.”

“I’ve never heard a damsel swear the way he does, that’s for certain,” Viktor acknowledged. 

“And yet, the little idiot always seems to need rescuing.”

“He’s in high demand.”

“Never more so than now,” Viktor said, tying off the last of the bandage. “But he has people now too, which he didn’t have before either.”

“Hmm...” Was Altin’s only response, his sombre look returned. “Thank you. I apologise for the way I’ve been.”

“Friends don’t apologise for things like that.” Viktor shrugged and stood. “We will likely leave in the next few hours, which is enough time to gather what we need.”

“It’s been two days.” Altin said coldly, voice hollow, and it made Viktor’s feet halt. He drew in a ragged breath that caught in his throat and lungs. The years had change and separated them, parted them at the seams, but in recent months they had been sewing back together their kinship. Viktor had always missed Yuri, and the fact that they could somehow reconstruct their connection gave Viktor so much pleasure, and only made him more precious in Viktor’s eyes. Yuri was the brother he’d never wanted or asked for, and yet he was. Yuuri knew this too, which was why when the call had come from Altin, asking for aid, he hadn’t even hesitated. Yuuri had known Viktor would go, whether he offered his blessing or not.

The knowledge that Yuri had gotten himself into more trouble rankled as much as it worried.  
“He’s not dead, Altin.” Viktor stated harshly, certain, in spite of the envelope of yellow hair Altin had showed him.

“I cannot…think clearly.” Altin admitted.

“Then sleep, shower, and think clearly,” Viktor shot back at him, his sympathy gone. “Would you murder a useful informant? It makes no sense.”

“She has demanded no ransom, nor contact at all. These are not the actions of someone who intends to let him go. If she did this out of jealousy…”

“If she truly believes Yuri will buckle under enough pressure, then she wouldn’t kill him. And knowing Yuri’s legendary stubbornness, it will likely take more than two days.”

“Yuri knows nothing,” Altin said, his voice rasping.

“Of course he doesn’t,” Viktor relented slightly. “But Yuri isn’t Yuri if he doesn’t act like an asshole as long as possible anyway.”

-8-

Yuri would have found the burn on his ears distracting if he paid any attention to it. But right then, he was making Viktor’s word honest truth.

“You’re wearing ore make up than Bitch is. And that’s saying something,” he chortled. “Hang on, don’t move too quickly or you’ll look like a B-grade movie actress. I have one functioning eye.”

There was a barely suppressed screech of frustration, muffle by a hand. “I told you he was like this.”

“Everyone has their fulcrum,” Proverbio insisted, his magazine cut-out of a smile gone now, replaced with a dark grimace. “He’ll crack, we just need to push hard enough.”

“Bitch already cut my hair, and Meathead cracked at least one tooth and two ribs since you’ve arrived,” Yuri pointed out, wheezing slightly. “What else is in your very boring bag of tricks?”

Since Proverbio had arrived, he’d given the henchmen far more explicit instructions on how to beat Yuri, before showing what the whole point of this adventure was for: information. Yuri had laughed, been struck, then laughed some more.  
“I told you, even if I did know anything, I wouldn’t tell you. Besides, what do you think I am? A robot? Otabek literally knows more information than a fucking library, my head doesn’t work that way.”

“I think you are a petty thief, who understands violence more than conversation, and has somehow been elevated to a status he does not understand or deserve,” Proverbio retorted calmly, standing in front of him, though Yuri could only see his shoes. He was feeling a little run down and couldn’t lift his head. “But you have done it nonetheless, and now you are the consort of one of the most powerful information brokers in the world. You can’t expect me to believe he shares nothing with you.”

“Consort? That’s a big fucking word. I’m just a petty thief, remember?”

Proverbio folded and squatted so he could look Yuri in the eye. “I want to know about Antonio Busi.”

“Maybe you should go ask him out,” Yuri muttered. “You seem like you have a crush on the guy, whoever he is.”

“My only worthwhile opponent in these elections has hired a man named Antonio Busi, ostensibly to be his accountant. I know it’s a lie, and I know you know what the truth is.”

“Asshole, I don’t even know the name,” Yuri wheezed. “And I don’t care about your eyes meeting across a crowded room or whatever-“

The smack was sloppy but hard. Two days of beating, little sleep and no food had made Yuri weak in body if not in mind and his head snapped with enough momentum to actually overbalance his chair and for him to crash onto the floor. His skull cracked on the tiles, adding to his already omnipresent headache and making him gasp involuntarily. The smooth, sole of a shoe pressed down on his cheek.

“Why do you seek out pain?” Proverbio asked, barely biting back his frustration. “Is this something you enjoy? Does Altin beat you with a riding crop?  
”  
“Does thinking about it turn you on?” Yuri managed to eke out through a squashed mouth. The foot was abruptly removed and Yuri felt his chair, and thus himself, being yanked up again, letting the legs of the chair clatter jarringly back upright.

“If you enjoy pain so much, I’ll oblige. And if you’re speaking honestly, then perhaps I am asking the wrong person after all.” Proverbio flicked an agitated hand at the henchman. “Perhaps if Altin receives more than hair, he will be more likely to play along. He really does overcharge, you know, and I hate parting with my money.”

“Poor little rich boy.”

The henchmen came closer, pulling a chair behind him, before straddling it and grabbing Yuri’s hand with unnecessary force, since it was already tied down. Then he brought out a flick knife with a nasty edge.

“Would you still be known as the Ice Tiger, with his nimble fingers, if you only had nine of them?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Le GASP!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So,
> 
> Um.
> 
> I'm sorry for the reeeeeely long absence. I could give you al the reasons why this happened but honestly, it's not the interesting beyond being the usual. I do plan to finish this story soon though and hopefully will not go months between updates again.

When Altin joined Viktor and Katsuki as they made their convoy to the air hangar, he seemed to once again have taken up the reputation his name had earned. He was cut out of the landscape with a scalpel, the edges of his suit sharp and his face stony and severe. He spared both Viktor and Katsuki a brief nod, and ignored the few others chosen to join them on the rescue mission and didn’t wait for Viktor to follow his master before going ahead. Viktor watched his silhouette outlined against the light spilling from the entryway, heard the crisp clip of shoes against the tile, and breathed an internal sigh of relief.   
  
-8-

  
The flight was short, but Otabek used it to his advantage. Pulling the unraveling mess of his psyche back together, he put his mind to treating the entire event in the way he was suited best: which was with the maximum amount of benefit to himself, with a heavy serving of vindictiveness thrown in. As a favor monger, he only had to think creatively to find the best way to handle whatever Viktor wasn’t. Katsuki, unsurprisingly, hadn’t joined them for the actual journey and recovery, but Viktor seemed as invested as he was to rescue his honorary brother.

  
“Do you think I should alert the local medical services?” Otabek asked when Viktor had made use of the seat opposite, and helping himself to the contents of its accompanying mini-bar. The silver-haired man tilted his head thoughtfully while pouring clear liquid into a tumbler.

  
“Might be a good idea, if you can do it under the radar. I can set up an IV if one is provided and required.”

  
“I thought so too. I’ll have one of my contacts there have a truck close by, in case.” Otabek stopped his voice from trailing off. Barely.   
  


“Yuri is type AB.” Viktor took a sip of his drink, observing Otabek carefully. But nothing could be found now that his stone-like expression was in place.

  
“I know.”

  
Otabek typed a quick email, confirming his request, then went to set up a payment. His hands and mind whirred through the browser, setting up card castles and traps and safety nets. Viktor said nothing, and eventual, y let his gaze drift from Otabek’s immovable façade to the slightly less stoic view out the window.

  
-8-

  
There was a lot of blood.

 

Holy shit. There was a lot. Yuri pushed some matted pink streaked hair from his face and whistled.

 

At least most of it wasn’t his.

The thought reminded him that yes, while most of it wasn’t, some of it was though, and he was still adding to the smears and stains soaking into the terracotta. His lifted his injured hand up, thinking gravity might help. But it didn’t. The place where his pinkie finger had once spent its innocuous time on his hand was still bleeding freely and he was starting to feel a little wobbly. 

 

The meagre adrenaline rush he’d been using was fast wearing off and he’d only managed to knock out the knuckle dragger.

 

He felt a little bad about it, since actually the guy was just trying to help his sorry self when Proverbio had left the room, his stolen digit in a Ziploc bag and ready for shipment. Huge he was, smart he was not, and Yuri had taken the chance to grab a bottle of ancient wine and break it over his head. Unfortunately cavemen were made of stern stuff, and Yuri had to use the jagged glass to cut into his neck as well.

 

Yuri made his slow shuffling way to the exit, going carefully because 1) he didn’t know the place at all and 2) he might just fall over if he hurried and 3) he knew there were probably at least two other people around and even the Bitch might be able to knock him over at this point.

 

He climbed the stairs laboriously, leaning on the wall for support and dripping a trail of blood like a twisted fairy tale. Warring in his mind for first priority was not making a noise and finding a tourniquet of some kind. He’d never actually lost a limb or digit before, but he was fairly well acquainted with blood loss and knew that if he didn’t sort that out he would be in the same situation as before.

 

Through the ringing in his ears, Yuri strove to listen for any other sounds, something to give him direction, to or away from. But the house was silent. After the meek light of the wine cellar, he found that the daylight leaking into the house above was a touch too bright, but let himself adjust slowly while his heart pounded, and his absent finger throbbed with every beat. He estimated it was either early morning or late evening, not quite dark enough for electric lights. As the thought came to him, he sensed a brightening to his right from where he leaned on the doorframe at the top of the staircase.

 

A light had turned on. And it was followed by the murmur of a female voice, clipped consonants 

and extended vowels of Italian reaching his ears.

 

Ah, so not alone then.

 

Yuri had no compunctions about hurting women, but he did find it bad sport to hurt a person who was completely incompetent at defending themselves. This however was entirely outweighed by the fact that he was currently missing half his head of hair as well as a finger, and the sting marks on his cheek were still very much present, and he thought he could definitely lose some of his good guy sympathy over that.

  
  


“I didn’t agree to actual bloodshed Stephano. No, you know I wouldn’t….I obviously didn’t!” Yuri heard her voice lifted, swerving from low fear to shrill agitation too fast to be musical or pleasant. 

 

Yuri had only been watching her from the corner of his eye since the Italian politician had entered the scene, but he could see she was as eager to see Yuri suffer as she was repulsed by the act of it. Or simply being part of it. A fleeting thought passed through his mind then, of Otabek, and his own lack of appreciation for violence. Seemed like his lover and his kidnapper were cut from the same cloth.

 

_ ‘I wonder if they’re all squeamish’ _ , Yuri thought absently as he edged around the corner, coming closer to the woman’s voice, who from the sounds of things, was on the phone, since the angry conversation sounded very one –sided.

 

“No….si….you know I’ll keep your ass covered so stop being aggressive with me…” she was reduced to muttering. Yuri saw her back, as she stood leaning against the kitchen island, the expensive, Swedish design clean enough to look like people hardly used it. Yuri doubted he was being particularly quiet in spite his best efforts, but she was so deep into her argument that she didn’t hear the soft shuffle of his slumped feet.

 

He waited until she had cut the call and laid the phone on the counter, and was rubbing her forehead with a manicured hand when he leaned over her shoulder and said;

 

“Hey Bitch.”

 

It came out rough and broken, but in the best kind of way. The soft yellow light from the sunset facing window caught the gloss of her long, chocolate coloured hair as she spun around, eyes wide, and Yuri could see the fine myriad wrinkles stretching around them, the inelegant drop of her jaw, the quiver of her lip.

 

And smiled.

 

-8-

 

Since there was zero chance that Viktor and his team were going to approach and recover Yuri without him, Otabek agreed to hang back with Viktor while the Katsuki peons went on ahead, making sure that the house was indeed as empty and devoid of security as they had assessed. 

 

His arms prickled painfully but he kept them folded, his face set and expressionless as he watched the crew of three men and one woman glide their way in on silent feet.

 

Every step was one step less distance between them.

 

Viktor stood at the ready, poised to dash, shoulder slightly overshadowing Otabek’s frame. Even Otabek couldn’t argue the point; he was worse than useless in a confrontation. But the thought that Yuri was in there, in whatever possible state…

 

It helped nothing that he had gotten a frantic call from Aizada 30 minutes before, her voice shaking as she told Otabek that another package had arrived via fast track mail, containing one small pinkie finger.

 

There was no way of knowing it was Yuri’s. But the chances that it wasn’t were next to none. 

Otabek clenched his jaw so hard he felt it click.

 

“Let’s go.” Viktor said quietly and Otabek followed without a word.

 

There were a short flight of stairs leading up to the back door where the Katsuki had already entered, and left open for them. The progress was frustratingly cautious, Viktor behaving like a dog, practically sniffing the air, walking as if every tile could be a pyramidal booby trap. Otabek wanted to shout, to push, the run, but he did none of that. Self-control was a thing that he held together and held him together.

 

And it was the thing that would save Yuri. He had to believe it firmly just in case reality didn’t. So he bit down on that belief firmly, like leather between his teeth and refused to let go.

 

The house was silent and dark, the sun already dipped beneath him horizon and the gloaming leaking from the sky. From behind Viktor’s shoulder he saw the glow from a room, a single source of light in the cavern of the place that held his love, and they drifted closer. Otabek could see that Viktor’s team had stopped, altogether, and were staring quietly at its centre.

 

The feeling of dread rose in him, bringing with it, nausea.

 

Viktor came to a halt ahead of him and drew a brief breath, before puffing it out again, a sound that could have been a laugh or a sob.

 

“Well, all that drama for nothing.” Viktor said, his relief outweighing his sarcasm.

 

Otabek curled around the silver haired man quickly, eyes wide and eager.

 

Yuri stood like a puppet with half its strings cut, one shoulder drooping and hand curled against his chest. The other hand was holding a mess of dark hair, the rest of which was pooled around his feet. His face was pale, drained and streaked with blood, while half his hair stood but in ragged uneven tufts on his right side, the other side now a matted collection of red stained straw.

  
  


He blinked at them. Otabek caught a small movement on the floor behind Yuri’s legs, and saw the crumpled form of Francesca, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs, and head untidily bald.

 

“You took your fucking time.” Yuri rasped and pitched forward, the last of his strings snapped and loosed.

 

The other did not even attempt to stop Otabek as he lunged, closing the final space between them to catch the falling man. He landed awkwardly, one leg folded beneath him and the other bent at an odd angle, but Yuri was in his arms, and he didn’t even notice the blood tainting the colour of charcoal suit.

 

-8-

 

Yuri heard through a fog the voices above and next to him. Otabek slowly came into focus, talking to someone on Yuri other side in yet another language he didn’t understand. It took him a few minutes to understand that he was lying down, and that was why everything seemed disproportionate in his line of sight.

 

“...the fuck?” he mumbled weakly.

 

“He’s awake.” the stranger said, his expression morphing into concern. Yuri fixed his attention on the thing that stood out most prominently.

 

“Your eyebrows...are enormous. Do you like, comb them…?”

 

The expression went from worry to flatly unimpressed. “I’m assuming he is delirious from the blood loss..”

 

“No. That’s how he is.” Otabek’s voice cut in.

 

“Delightful.” the stranger said and Yuri turned to his lover.

 

“I've lost more blood than this before.” he murmured. There was pressure in his palm and he realized Otabek’s hand was there too, skin warming his cold limb, gentle and constant. “Update? You kidnap me again?”

 

“You're in a medic truck. We were discussing if hospitalization was necessary.” Otabek informed him, face unmoving but eyes the color of rain-heavy storm clouds.

 

“I don’t…”

 

“He hasn't lost that much blood, surprisingly. But I'll set up an IV. but the chop wasn’t clean. We can do the ER or we can go to my brother…”

 

The stranger’s voice trailed off as he looked to Otabek for confirmation, who did not let his gaze star from Yuri’s even a moment.

 

“You should know, that the man who did this, will likely not survive the week and the woman who did this is now bald. As well as this man whose veins you are now tapping having a connection to the Katsuki clan that is just shy of familial. Now, do you still wish to bring your brother into this?”

 

There was a silence broken by the rumble of tyres, and Yuri watched miscellaneous gear and tools swing from the ceiling with the rocking of the truck motion.

 

“He is trustworthy, if that’s what you mean.” the medic eventually said.

 

“Then take us there.”

 

Yuri smiled, or thought he did, he wasn’t completely sure.

 

“Beka.” he said as his vision swam. “She cut my hair. The bitch hacked it off.”

 

“Seriously?” he heard the medic mutter somewhere to his right.

 

“Yes she did.”

 

“Are all your exes psychos?”

 

Otabek didn't answer, but leaned down to kiss at Yuri forehead lightly. Yuri sighed into it and let go on consciousness.   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this wasn't too rusty.


	5. 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> IT IS DONE!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the very long delay folks. The fandom makes me sad.

Yuri woke up.

 

Or rather, arrived at consciousness slowly, like dragging feet through mud, aiming for the areas that seemed blurry but bright. He blinked his eyes into the focus, which took a while because one, hi eyes were clearly lazy and two, his eyelids were struggling to take orders. But he got there in the end, and found himself looking at the underside of a familiarly ostentatious ceiling.

Yuri had often found it completely weird that there was a whole wing of rooms where the ceilings had old-fashioned moulded tiling instead of ordinary concrete like anyone else. He focussed on a funny little curly-cue and breathed air into his lungs, filling them up as much as they would go. He was stopped short when an involuntary whimper escaped him.

 

“Broken ribs. Two.” 

 

Yuri sluggishly turned his head to the right, where Otabek Altin sat on a wingback chair that had been pulled up close to the bed, following the line of his bare arm where it met with his lover’s. Hands linked gently. 

Otabek’s face was as flat as ever, the only part of him that was composed. Everything was unlike and unusual for the man; collar undone, tie untied but not removed, jacket tossed negligently over the arm of the chair. Yuri frowned and tried to move forward.

 

“Don’t. Not yet.” Otabek said quietly.

 

“How long have I been out?”

 

“46 hours, give or take.”

 

“Not that you're counting or anything.”Yuri groaned as his body sensitivities slowly came awake and he felt the various results of a couple of days of beating. “I'm starving. And I  _ need _ a fucking smoke,  _ god _ .”

 

“I'll make a call.”

Otabek made to stand but Yuri put pressure on the hand still in his. 

 

“How about,” Yuri took another shuddering breath against the constrictive pain of his ribcage. “You just stay for a sec.”

 

Otabek sat again, threading their hands closer, more securely. Yuri blinked and saw the heavy circles under his eyes, the slight tension of his chin, the horizon curve of his shoulders.

 

“Ah, were you worried,?” Yuri half whispered, a weak smile tugging his lips. “ _ Durachit. _ ”

Otabek looked stuck for a moment, like his chest was expanding with words that couldn't get past the gate of his mouth. Then he deflated, and bent over their tangled fingers, pressing his forehead to the knot.

“Three days. And I didn't know if you were alive or dead.” Was the harsh whisper, and Yuri felt the roughness of it against his skin. He sighed.

 

“I wasn't. And I'm not.”

 

Otabek refused to say anything more for a while, and Yuri allowed him his silence. He wasn't sure what he would have done in Otabek’s shoes, but if Otabek’s misery was equal to his likely fury, he probably could understand somewhat. But the hand not held hostage was starting to throb, and his body was still demanding more sleep. He squeezed his lover hand feebly than let go.

 

“Could you order some food, and maybe an industrial strength painkiller?” he asked softly, kindly.

 

Otabek’s head lifted and his eyes immediately darted to Yuri’s other hand. Yuri did the same, though slower, and saw his arm ended in a thick, fluffy white bandage. He attempted to lift it closer, but it protested too hard, making Yuri not quite stifle a cry. Otabek’s fingers came to rest on the skin just where the bandage ended, in gentle admonition.

 

“We couldn't re-attach the finger.” he explained.

 

“I'm guessing you got it as a gift.”

 

“Yes.”

 

“It's ok, i've got nine more.” Yuri tossed out. It wasn't that he felt nothing about losing the digit, it was just that he had more pressing concerns just then. Besides, he was alive, he was with Otabek, so far, so good. “Forget the food. I’m gonna sleep more.”

 

“I’ll order it for when you wake up again.” Otabek replied, nodded in a businesslike way and Yuri lost the small patience afforded him by exhaustion.

 

“And then you're gonna lie next to me, right?” he said without really asking. “Instead sitting in that chair like it's a damn hospital room.”

 

Otabek blinked at him. “Yes.”

Yuri forced himself to stay awake long enough to watch Otabek make a call, murmured into a phone while he undressed. Yuri saw bandages that wrapped Otabek’s forearms and the angry red blotch at his throat that appeared when he was hot or anxious. He need no explanation, but lifted his arm wordlessly when Otabek drew the blanket aside and pulled himself closer, letting it settle underneath Otabek’s head and over his shoulder.

 

“I stink.” Yuri commented. Eyes closing.

 

“I don't care. We can shower when we wake up.”

 

“Sounds great…” Yuri mumbled, before letting sleep take him again.

 

-8-

 

“I want us to retire.”

 

Yuri’s sluggish hand stilled on Otabek’s chest, where it had been gently lathering soap over the reddened flesh, more for the soothe than actual effect. They'd slept another 5 hours, both in dire need of rest, and then slowly meandered to the ensuite where they spent a slow, languorous time relearning each other, as if they had been separated for years instead of days. Every touch was reassurance;  _ you are here, I am here, we are real, we are together _ .

Yuri met Otabek’s dark gaze. “You want us to quit?”

 

Otabek nodded, and continued rubbing small circles of soap  over all the places Yuri couldn't with one hand elevated and hanging out of the spray.

 

“People like us don't just up and quit Beka. There aren’t retirement villages for villains. Although, it’s a cute idea.”

 

“Stop being flippant. I mean it.” Otabek’s wet forehead pushed itself into the corner of Yuri’s neck. “I can't do this again. And it will happen again. To you. Or to me…”

 

Yuri was still stiff with surprise, uncertain. “Um…”

 

“I can look after us. I have more than enough money. We can go live on the island with that sour faced cat and…”

 

“Be bored out of our minds.” Yuri finished. He caught Otabek’s gaze again. “Beka, people like us do what we do for a reason. You like your job.I like mine. At least, since I met you I do. We are domestic types of people.”

 

Otabek looked desperate. “Then... I can’t-” 

 

Yuri startled at the aborted tone to Otabek’s sentence.

 

“Can’t what?”

 

“I can't be with you, knowing you'll be taken away.”

Yuri found that he still had enough fury left over to burn bright. He let his lividity show plain on his face, putting a measure of distance between him and Otabek. He ground his teeth together, though his jaw hurt like hell, grinding his hateful words before they escaped, forcing himself to think before saying something just as stupid as his lover just had. Otabek didn't follow him, but his expression was miserable and his arms lifted towards Yuri impotently, wanting to bring them back together but stopping just short of touching. He would never pull and drag at Yuri. But he was torn, had been torn and Yuri was seeing the aftermath. Yuri eyes were drawn to the wreck of his bared arms, the bandages discarded, and the pencil-sized scabs both old and new were horrific. Yuri hadn't even known fingernails could cause that kind of damage.

“I don't want to.” Otabek offered weakly, looking down. “But you see. How can I… how can I protect you. I've never had something so precious that still threatens to vanish every minute like you do.”

 

Yuri swallowed the lump in his throat, his anger subsided leaving behind sour irritation and hurt. He stepped back into the spray. “I'm not leaving you, fucking idiot. I thought I made that clear.”

 

“I don't want to leave you either. Which is why I want us to go together.”

 

They still weren't touching, but Yuri watched the waterfall thick on Otabek’s olive coloured shoulders and run over the smooth skin, the dim bathroom light shimmering in the reflection it caused. We went to his injured, still dry hand, and quickly unlatched the small clawed buckle that kept the netting from unravelling. 

 

“Yura-”

 

“Shut up.”

 

Otabek watched in silence as Yuri slowly undid the bandage, careful to keep the hand elevated, but uncaring about where they badge landed or it it got soaked. Eventually he reached the second layer of doctoring, several gauze strips laid in layers over his middle and ring fingers, and he peeled those off too, ignoring the stain of blood. He could feel it wasn't flowing anymore.

 

The gap where his pinky finger finger used to be was strange, but not the point just then.

 

He left the last of the gauze on, still keeping it out of the water, and rubbed at the knuckle of the ring finger, to remove the last smear of blood. The he glanced at Otabek, to make sure he was looking.

 

“They got me as it got  done. Took like ten minutes.” He touched the thin black band that was now linked into a ring around his ring finger, feeling the slight scabbing and looking to see if it had been damaged in the process of ...everything. “Surprise, asshole.”

 

Yuri felt Otabek’s chest become flush with his back, and a face become buried into his neck, hair and all. He went on.

“I want revenge. And then...well, let me think ok?”

 

“Yes. anything.” 

 

“Careful what you offer.”

 

“I'll offer anything.”

 

Yuri sighed and let himself relax against his lover again once more. “Why are you such a fool.”

“Only for you.”

 

“Better be.” Yuri looked at the tattooed ring once more. “It was supposed to be a great fucking surprise. Oh well.”

 

“I'll get one too.”

 

“You have like 5 tattoos already.”

 

“I'll get one.”

 

“Whatever. For a grown man you can be such a child sometimes.”

 

-8-

  
  


“I’m fine...Aiza, god, I said I’m fine. Well, yes, but it’s just one…” 

 

Yuri was fending off a panicked sister, and Otabek was happy to let him since she was not going to be happy until Yuri spoke to her himself. Her face had been whitewash pale when the finger had fallen out of the Fedex envelope, closed considerately in a ziplock baggie. 

 

In fact it had probably only been because of Aizada that Otabek hadn’t fallen apart right then and there. It's easier to keep it together when there are witnesses about. But now, he and Yuri walked side by side down the hallway towards Katsuki’s office, and Otabek slanted a look at his lover. Fiance now. Probably. He didn’t care about labels. He just cared that Yuri was alive and rolling his eyes at his sister again. 

 

But the marks of his recent adventure were clear. Unlike every other time Yuri came back with evidence of jobs gone wrong, they horrified him. There was a dark, brown bruise up the right side of his neck, and Otabek didn't miss how Yuri massaged his jaw every now and then. He’d seen the various bruises and cuts all over his chest, and the scabbed over cut on his cheek that had been minorly infected before the medics had done their work. All of it would heal, Yuri might walk with a small limp for a while but he was young and had recovered from worse. 

Still, Otabek’s hatred of the scars was so obvious that Yuri flatly refused to answer any questions regarding them at all.

 

_ “You’re just gonna get obsessed. Fuck off.” he’d said. _

 

And he was right, so Otabek left it there. Yuri was alive. This was a good thing. Goddamned fucking miracle.

 

Otabek held the door open for Yuri and felt Yuri’s hand brush over his chest briefly as he passed, a touch that was purposeless and intimate, and Otabek wanted to retreat with him once more, wrap them in a cocoon of bedding and forget the world for a little longer. But he kept himself contained, schooled his expression into blankness and followed. The office was large and it took several steps to reach the place where Katsuki kept his desk, bathed in light from tall windows. Katsuki was there, as was Viktor, and the latter stood up quickly, crying out.

 

“Oh my god Kitten ,  _ your hair! _ ”

 

Both Yuri and Otabek ignored the outburst and carried on until they could place themselves in the available seats facing the desk. Otabek let himself sink into the furniture, placid. Yuri however, was never placid about anything.

 

“Funny I was about to say the same thing. How’s that bald spot old man?” Yuri shot back, his irritation thinly concealed. Viktor didn't bat an eye. 

 

“That’s a very strange interrogation tactic.” 

 

“It wasn't from Proverbio. It was from the Bitch ex.” Otabek caught Yuri’s look. “How did you even date someone that psycho.”

 

Otabek wanted to answer that he had a talent for choosing risky bedpartners, but stopped himself. “She wasn’t crazy at the time.”

 

“Well, she’s fucking mental.” Yuri grumped.

 

“I can't believe she cut your hair. What a hack job.” Viktor said coming closer and touching the ragged short ends on the the one side. Yuri waved him off.

 

“She is even more so now.” Katsuki added quietly. “After you shaved her head with a cleaver.”

Yuri was unmoved. “It was all I had on hand after escaping her fucking wine cellar.” 

 

Otabek watched the slump of Yuri’s shoulders, the ash coloured bags under his eyes and saw the tiredness through Yuri’s bravado. Three days of interrogation had taken it out of him. He straightened and cleared his throat.

“We need to resolve the issue or Francesca and Proverbio.” he directed at Katsuki, who raised a delicate eyebrow at him in response.

 

“So you do.” He replied neatly, leaning back in his ergonomic chair and giving Otabek his attention. Otabek understood that nothing was free. He was a favour monger, and he worried that he had nothing more to offer Katsuki after this last escapade.

 

“I thank you for your aid in rescuing-”

 

“I was not rescued-”

 

“Recovering Yuri.” Otabek carried on smoothly. “I am in your debt. From here on, Yuri and I will take charge of the loose ends.”

 

“Yeah.” Yuri sighed harshly. “We'll take the Bitch off your hands.”

 

“And what are your plans with her?” Katsuki Yuuri asked mildly, leaning his head on a first, contriving to make it seem like they were only just keeping his interest.

 

Yuri blinked, glanced at Otabek, then shrugged.

 

“We have none as yet. But the burden is ours not yours.” Otabek replied.

 

“Hmm.” Katsuki hummed, sharing a very brief look with Viktor, who was now sitting with long leg crossed and smirking very slightly, blue eyes twinkling.

 

“Well, I had this idea, if you’d like the hear it?” he said.

 

Otabek nodded that he would.

 

“Well, as it turns out one of our teahouses was in need of a girl. Not for service. But for all those other little real life jobs. Floors needing scrubbing, clothes needing washing, toilets that need cleaning…”

 

Yuri barked out a laugh, and smiled for the first time since Otabek had brought him home. “Are you serious? You made her a maid?”

 

Victor chuckled a little. “I did nothing. I simply gave her over to Hanako.”

 

“She wouldn't stop crying.” Katsuki added, his irritance clear. “It seems she was far more attached to her physical beauty than you are, Yuri.”

Otabek flinched at that, but it was so small, and covered by his crossing one leg over another, no one noticed. Yuri’s face was still beautiful, even if it had been marred. “Thank you. That seems very fitting.”

 

“Just so.” Katsuki replied. “And for Proverbio…?”

 

“He’s mine.” both Otabek and Yuri said at once. Their eyes met, hard as steel and unbending, then Yuri shrugged. “We’ll deal with him, thanks.”

 

“Fine.” Katsuki said, eyes flicking away, ending the subject. Viktor clapped his hands.

 

“Good. Now, about your hair, Kitten.”

 

“Stop calling me that.”

 

“Come, I’m taking you for a drive.” Viktor pushed himself out of the chair, his motivation ignited and Yuri began to follow, resigned. Otabek stiffened and a hand flew out involuntarily, catching onto Yuri’s sleeve.

 

Yuri halted, eyes meeting his. After a moment, Yuri leaned down, brushing Otabek’s cheek with his lips and whispered, “I’ll be fine.”

 

Otabek forced himself to let go.

When Viktor and Yuri had closed the door behind them, Otabek faced the Serpent squarely.

 

“On The subject of debt…” Katsuki began, the let himself trail off looking thoughtful. “I admit, Altin, I am torn.”

 

Otabek blinked once, slowly. “How so?”

 

“Viktor considered Yuri family, you know.”

 

Otabek could hardly be that blind that he didn't see that. They certainly bickered like siblings. 

“And so, I am not inclined to keep a record book in this case. Especially when the case is not monetary, but more matter of family. Do you understand?”

 

Otabek thought he might, but this wasn't the kind of thing to be left to ambiguity. “I need clarification. You consider Yuri family and so the debt is cancelled?”

 

“Just so.”

 

“But I am not family.”

 

“Ah well. I suppose it’s a matter of perspective isnt it.”

 

Otabek blinked once more, but Katsuki Yuuri went on, toying with a silver coin that had appeared between his fingers. 

 

“Men like us, we aren't heroes. Not to the world. We aren't entitled to love. I know you understand me on this.”

 

Otabek nodded. He did.

“And yet here we are, inexplicable and irreversibly tied to lovers. Men, as well. It is my fortune that I can, to an extent, make my own rules. And it is your fortune that you may do as you please, should you and Yuri ever decide that marriage is what binds you to each other more ultimately the commitment of simply choosing each other over all others. I digress. I am telling you this: Viktor is mine and what he finds dear, I must too. Surely you understand this.”

 

“Of course.” Otabek acknowledged quietly.

 

“And somehow, within the bloody, corrupted mess of a life we have been born into, we have these two lovers. All our fates have become tangled and interlinked and it seems to me that at this point it would be much more difficult to extricate them than just to leave the station be.”

Otabek didn't nod. He breathed shallowly, feeling his heart kick up a little. 

 

“So, on the subject of debt, at least in this case. There is none.” Katsuki said with finality, flipping the coin into the air and catching it neatly.

 

“Thank you.” Otabek offered.

 

“Just so.” 

 

-8-

 

“Honestly, if I had my way I would have at least evened it out while you were still unconscious, but Altin wasn’t letting anyone past that door.” Viktor quipped as he drove the little blue Fiat into the closest town, presumably to his own barber.

 

“I don't want you near my face with sharp things.” Yuri replied automatically.

 

Viktor flashed him a mockingly shocked look. “I’, wounded, that you would think-”

 

“I've seen you cut your own hair, Viktor. It wasn’t pretty.” Yuri interrupted.

 

“Ah.” Viktor said, stalled. “Yes well, that was a long time ago…”

 

“I bet you cut your own hair off this time too huh? And then you want to find the barber?”

 

Viktor’s mouth pushed into a pout and Yuri knew he’d hit the mark. 

 

“Anyway, we need to fix that hack job.” Viktor finished off, sniffing.

 

“At least it’s only one hack job.” Yuri mumbled, silently thanking Otabek in his mind. He would have texted, but his phone was gone and he hasn't gotten a new one yet.

 

When they pulled up outside a small shop with a yellowing sign in a language Yuri couldn't read, he was sceptical.

 

“Hmm.” he said minimally.

 

“Don’t be that way. Would I trust just anyone with my hair?”

 

Yuri had to concede that Victor was probably the only man he knew who was as vain about his hair as Yuri was, so he swallowed his hesitancy and stepped out of the car. Carefully, still, feeling a few aches and pains the painkillers couldn't quite dull. He knew Viktor was watching knowingly as he moved in his geriatric way.

 

“They really went to town on you.”

 

“They had this dumb gorilla who pretty much just did what he was told. Insert instruction in slot, watch the fist swing, kind of thing.”

 

“Well, I saw what you did to him.”

 

“I didn't mean to kill him.” Yuri sighed.

 

“Really? I always do. Come on, he’s expecting us.”

 

Yuri tried to pay attention through one and a half eyes to what was happening, but the tiredness was overwhelming again, and having his hair and scalp massaged wasn’t helping. By the time Viktor directed him back to the car with a “Geez, what a baby.” He was dozing and fell asleep almost as soon as the engine started.

 

He was nudged awake, hard, by Viktor poking a finger into the large bruise on his neck.

“Ow fuck! Viktor you ass.” he spat, straightening his body and flinching away. He’d been slumped into the seat, dreaming of golden cats with diamond eyes.

 

“You must be getting soft to fall asleep in the car.” Viktor said pointedly.

 

“My mistake.” Yuri growled and flung the car door open. But Viktor caught his elbow, gentler this time. His jutted a chin towards Yuri hand.

 

“Let me see.”

 

Yuri settled back with bad grace. “Didnt you get an eyeful already when you found me?”

 

“It was pretty much a mesh of blood so, no.”

 

Yuri held the bandaged hand out for inspection, and Viktor did not attempt to remove it. He did take Yuri’s wrist though, and examined the limb. But it was doctoring that darkened Viktor’s expression, making it serious. It was assessment, rigid and cold. 

He let go.

 

“I suppose I’ll have to teach you how to juggle knives with nine fingers.” he said at length.

 

Yuri shrugged. “I’ll still be better at it than you.”

 

“Now, now, Kitten.” Viktor chided but it had no bite. “Baby steps.”

 

“Fuck you.”

 

“You should be so lucky.”

 

It took Yuri a moment then his face crumpled with disgust. “ _ Gross _ .”

 

Viktor laughed and Yuri once more lunged out of the car, and slammed the door closed, and the noise echoed loud in the huge Katsuki Mansion garage filled with many other luxury vehicles. Viktor stupid sky blue fiat stood out like a child in a gun shop.

 

“Grumpy face.” Viktor called out cheerfully as Yuri made his way to the elevator hat would take him into the mansion itself. “And with your hair so pretty too.”

 

Yuri had almost forgotten.

 

When he was alone in the elevator, he couldn't help but see himself in the mirrors that lined the inside. His hair hadn't been that short since he was fifteen years old and still deep within Yaakov’s organisation. The swing of it felt odd, and he couldn't deny that the brush of it against his jawline felt different, in a good way. Refreshing. 

Then he sighed. It was just hair for god’s sake. And at least now, all the split ends were gone. He’d tie it up as soon as he could, the graduated fringe hanging over one eye was driving him nuts already.

 

-8-

 

Revenge was a dish best served cold.

 

Otabek disagreed. He had a feeling Yuri would too, and when he stepped out of the mess of an room Christophe called his office, he was satisfied with the plans he and Katsuki Yuuri had made. Already he was typing into his phone, pulling of threads that ordered in favours that were owed, and would get them to Italy, Milan by lunchtime in two days.

 

“Hey.”

Otabek looked up, watching Yuri come towards him, a familiar look of barely repressed aggrievance on his face, still wearing the faded jeans he’d left in that morning, cigarette hanging limp and half finished from his sneer. The hair though…

 

“Viktor did it.” Yuri offered when he saw Otabek’s eyes train on the shorter ends.

 

“It looks good.” Otabek responded stoically.  _ You look so young _ .

 

“Hmph.” Yuri grumped tossing his head and Otabek felt his throat grow tight.

 

“Have you eaten?” he went on, distracting himself on purpose.

 

“Not really.”

 

“Good, lets get something, then go sleep. We have a busy few days ahead.”

 

“Oh?” Yuri perked up, green eyes vibrant and eager suddenly. Otabek found himself stepping closer, pushing his body closer and his hand travelling up Yuri’s shoulder and into the now fine short hairs on his neck. He could still see the small, chopped hairs not brushed away from the haircut.

 

“Shower.” he breathed, feeling a little nonsensical.

Yuri grinned up at him.

 

“Just a shower?” Yuri purred, then Otabek felt a hand close over his mouth. “And if you say, ‘oh no, Yuri, you're still recovering’,” I will fucking cut your hair off in your sleep.”

 

“Otabek smiled behind the fingers, soft and pliant. “Let’s start with food, then a shower.”

 

-8-

 

Yuri did in fact, fall asleep once more, since his circadian rhythm and the huge cheeseburger he’d wolfed down were just too big an obstacle to overcome. His body simply gave him no option. So the night fell, and Otabek curled himself around Yuri’s back and shuddered out a sigh against his shoulder blade, where there was an old, very familiar scar, only distinguishable against his pale skin because it was shiny and tight. Yuri himself was out cold, barely able to keep his eyes open long enough to finish the shower. Otabek had rinsed the fine blonde hairs off his body, towelled him and directed him to bed, although the blond had pushed his solicitous hands away more than once.

 

Eventually, he’d given in and Otabek had been able to finish off his own business before climbing into bed as well.

 

His own sleeplessness caught up with him then, and with his arm fallen securely over Yuri’s wasit, and the new awareness now of the taint of ink around Yuri’s ring finger, he knew contentment for the first time in a week.

He slept.

 

-8-

 

As far as Yuri was concerned, the only good thing about fancy parties in which he absolutely had to dress up in a fucking suit was that 1) he looked good in a suit and 2) the drinks were free. He considered this again as he snatched another glass of gold coloured champagne from a waiter on the way past, keeping his eyes half closed and watchful.

 

So far Stefano Proverbio has been the perfect host to this party thrown in his honour. He’d won the election for Prime Minister and was all Colgate smiles and handshakes, bathing in victory and oozing trustworthy benevolence. Even though various italian washed over yuri’s ears, he understood other kinds of communication very well. And right now, when he wasn't watching Proverbio, he was watching the not very well veiled security guards shifting slowly through and around the rented hall of this very lush and overpriced hotel. It made sense, there was too much money, too much reputation floating around and rubbing elbows in this place for them not to make some sort of contingency plan. 

 

Luckily, Yuri wasn't planning on any sort of violence at all.

 

“The fucker is wearing my brooch.” he murmered when he brought the glass to his mouth.

 

“We’ll get it back.” Otabek assured mildly through the flesh coloured earpiece in his ear, covered in any case by his hair.

 

“Stop drinking so much Kitten.” Viktor chimed in.

 

“Fuck off Old man.” Yuri replied a little harshly, catching the bartender’s eye. He turned away and pulled himself together. “I've set it up. I’m going to say hi now. Make sure your timing is good Chris.”

“I’ve got it.” was the tight reply, and Yuri heard the unspoken  _ you little upstart, _ in Christophe's tone, but he didn't give a rats ass. He started the weave his way to a cluster of people where Proverbio was the centre. Yuri had no problem jabbing his elbow into other people in order to get through and flashing a bright, sharp smile at the elderly gentlemen who was currently holding onto Proverbios rapt attention.

 

“Excuse me, may I interrupt?” his eyes slid over to Proverbio, who had frozen , as had the little blonde wifelet on his arm. “We have some urgent business.”

 

The man was waiting patiently for Proverbio to answer either way, and was saved by his glitzy wife, who stepped forward to take the man’s arm. She was so clearly accustomed to dealing with a politically minded husband, she flashed a darling smile and redirected the guest away, rattling off something in italian while Yuri turned toward Proverbio fully. The perfect, white toothed smile was beginning to look strained.

 

“Congratulations on your win, Prime Minister.” Yuri purred.

 

“Do I- know you?” Proverbio tried, eyes bouncing let and right.

 

Yuri tsked, “Now Now, let's not pretend we aren't intimately acquainted. After all, you probably still have some of my DNA under your fingernails. Unless your always tell you manicurist to work as if they’re removing blood stains.”

 

It was, unfortunately, a little amusing to watch Proverbio’s statuesque face flinch and his adam's apple bob suddenly, and Yuri snorted. “Ah man, I can’t even pretend to be a bond guy. We're both villains here right? Now, calm down. I just wanted to come and say hello, and wish you the best in your future career.”

 

“Can I offer you a drink?” Proverbio said, instantly signalling for a waiter.

 

“I’ve had plenty thanks. But you look like you need one.”

 

“Perhaps we can go somewhere private-” Proverbio tried again in a low voice, only to realise that he was suggesting that he should be alone with a man whose finger he’d carved off. Yuri smirked.

 

“You were saying?”

 

“Perhaps we can go over to the bar.”

 

“No no, here is fine.”

Proverbios eyes were trying to carve there was into a Yuri, who took it without a complaint. He seemed to dredge up his courage then, and whispered harshly at Yuri while smiling around him.

 

“You think I cannot finish the job I started with you? Is the Ice Tiger so eager to lose another finger?” he hissed.

 

Yuri adjusted his collar, then shook his head slightly. “Not at all. Just here to pay my dues, and make sure you pay yours. Don’t suppose you care what happened to Bitch?”

 

The look on Proverbio’s face was very badly hidden and Yuri chuckled some more. “I’m guessing you already have an idea. Then why on earth did you think we wouldn't be coming for you?”

 

“I'm not afraid of you.”

 

“Fucking liar. But then again, that's your whole career right? Don’t worry, we’ve been thinking  _ hard  _ about your career.”

 

Finally, Proverbios crafted facade wavered, his expression finally getting a healthy dose of wariness. “You have?”

 

“Yeah, mother fucker.” Yuri said as sweet as the honey but with the sting of the bee. “Very much. Like a lot of your other...patrons, we have a very active interest in your future.”

 

Yuri leaned closer. “You should have killed me, you gutless wannabe mobster. Now, I think it's time for that speech right? The one that the winner gives?”

 

Yuri urged the stricken man away, towards the stage, where he was indeed being hailed by a collection of happy voters. Proverbio managed to maintain some dignity and not look back at Yuri, but his stride was stiff, offbeat and when he finally arrived at the podium had to clear his throat  before beginning.

 

The stage was hired, set up for the purposes of entertainment, likely to be removed almost immediately after the party ended. But they had nonetheless, made it look permanently grand. An archway, decorated in gold and green and red balloons framed the new prime Minister, who was gaining momentum now that he was reciting his learned speech. And suspended behind and above was a large screen on which photos were displayed. Vote garnering propaganda; kissing babies, planting trees with the wifelet, shaking hands with other car-dealer types who looked not too young but old enough to be wise. There was even one of him fishing, face split in a wide gleeful grin as he held his hefty catch aloft.

 

Yuri smirked, caught the Prime Ministers eye, and waved.

 

The prime minister faltered. Then carried on, with gusto.

 

Another few minutes passed of the speech, which Yuri all but ignored, because he was waiting for another round. Then it came. A gasp. Then another. Then a choked back laugh. Soon the room filled with human noises of horror, scandal and tragic humour. Fingers pointed, whispers grew and eventually the fat-head noticed and stuttered to a halt. He followed the line of his publicists arm, pointing at the monstrous screen behind him, and rapidly drained of colour.

 

It was an image of him sweatily thrusting into a another man. Following that, an image of him being thrust into by a woman with a strap on. Yuri thought he recognised the Asian piece of arm candy from Bangkok. Oh, and then another rather badly lit photo of several arms and legs entangled. The photos were clearly taken from a window, perhaps even from a laptop left negligently open. The one following was not, where the Prime minister was seated at a coffee shop across from Ashrad Gibran. Those in the crowd who knew such things, were appropriately scandalised. What wa the prime minister doing in casual association with one of the most notorious terrorists out of Africa?

 

The video rolled on, and now there was sound attached. A voice spoke in Italian over the hijacked speakers, and though Yuri couldn't translate, Otabek had told him the general gist of it: a short, highlighted cataloguing of Stephano Proverbios shady dealings with judges, presidents, terrorists and prostitutes. Some names were known, some names were  _ there _ , and Yuri watched placidly as hustle turned into bustle. Certain people were trying to leave hastily, while other, reporters, were rushing forward, there ever present microphone held out and throwing questions at the man on stage. 

 

“It’s done.” he heard Otabek say into his ear, and Yuri nodded. He turned around and found his collar once more, fastening the brooch onto it. He dodged the general noise and crowd, finding a temporarily unmanned exit, and strolled away, humming.

 

“Did you get it?”

 

“What, ‘cause i have one less finger I suck at pickpocketing now?” Yuri retorted, as he walked down the lavishly decorated hallway to the staircase that led to the lobby. “Of course I got it.”

 

“Good.”

 

“Got what?”

 

“Fuck off Christophe. And if you don't make this a private channel right now I will rip this stupid doohickey out of my ear and step on it.”

“You little- you know how long it took me to make-”

“Don't care.”

 

The sub-noise changed and Yuri tested. “Beka?”

 

“Just me.”

Yuri sighed out.

 

“Thank fuck. I wanna go home now.”

 

“Me too. Get back to the van.”

 

“On my way, Lover.”

 

Otabek may have smiled, or not, but Yuri was whistling as he tripped down the staircase, thinking of islands and sand and bad-tempered cats.

  
  
  


Epilogue

 

The judge was brief and to the point. He had a no nonsense kind of face and he listened to both of them without changing his expression. Then he signed the document, handed it over to them, and bid them good day.

 

Yuri sat in the passenger seat of the Audi, feeling odd about it.

 

As weddings go, it didn't really fill expectations. But then again they didn't want a wedding. It hadnt even been a deal breaker to actually get married, but after they'd been back for a month and the last of Yuri’s bruises had faded, Otabek had asked when he’d wanted to set the date.

Yuri had said. “For what?”

 

After a little more misunderstanding, some shouting, and a few hours alone on the speedboat, Yuri had come back and proposed properly.  That had been nice. Very.

 

But neither of them had really cared about a wedding. Or telling anybody, though Viktor had noticed the tattoo on Yuri’s finger one day during juggling practicing and raised an eyebrow, which Yuri easily ignored. Both Otabek and Yuri went together to find a ring that Otabek could wear, and eventually chosen a simple Titanium ring that slid onto his finger and refused to budge from there. Not that they tried. 

 

There was a frame waiting for the certificate, waiting to be mounted and hung, and Yuri did so without comment while Otabek went to put food into the cat’s bowl. When he felt Otabek’s gaze on him, he met it frowning slightly.

 

“Now what?”

Otabek blinked at him, barefoot and shirtless, wearing black swim shorts that hugged his thighs in a distracting way.

 

“Now we have the rest of our lives.” he answered eventually.

Yuri’s smile was pure sunshine.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Durachit = Idiot


End file.
